


come chase the night with me

by nessatheresa12121



Series: My Hevelyn fics [2]
Category: Incredibles (Pixar Movies)
Genre: Angst, F/F, Slow Burn, basically if you've read the first one you know what to expect lol
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-12-10
Updated: 2019-02-23
Packaged: 2019-09-15 08:32:15
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 10
Words: 21,774
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16929927
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nessatheresa12121/pseuds/nessatheresa12121
Summary: After some time on house arrest, Evelyn Deavor is released on good behavior, and her sentence is commuted to community service by the judge. The catch: she has to work as Elastigirl's sidekick. Which isn't really a catch at all.Sequel to "But what will you do when you're sober?"





	1. Protect your heart at all costs

There were times when Helen regretted a whole lot of stuff. There were also times when she didn’t regret a darn thing.

For one thing, she sometimes regretted sleeping with Evelyn Deavor.

When she returned home to Bob after that strange night, Helen, at first, entertained a brief but tempting impulse to just… not tell him. Was it worth the trouble it would cause? But she decided against that, because it was way more than a little white lie—it was a lie that, should it ever come to life, could potentially ruin their marriage.

So, not five minutes after she walked in the door and explained to Bob that she’d accidentally been locked in with a house-arrested Evelyn in her penthouse for the night, Helen took a deep breath and came clean about what had happened. All of it. With her teeth gritted, and wincing, and already on the defensive for Bob’s response.

“You deserve to be angry, honey,” she finished, scanning Bob’s face for signs of emotion. “I wouldn’t blame you if you are.”

He shook his blonde head. She thought he just looked tired, and a little disappointed, but not angry at all. “I’m not mad, sweetie, I just…” He reached up with one massive arm and rubbed the back of his head, a gesture he tended to make when he was confused. “I just don’t get it. Why Evelyn? She tried to kill us all.”

“I know,” Helen replied, endlessly frustrated with her own feelings, and some of that frustration bleeding through into her voice. “But she’s remorseful—I really believe that, Bob. And I believe everybody deserves another chance.”

“So what, _another chance_ means you sleep with her?” Now some anger was showing.

“No,” Helen sighed, forcibly clamping down on her own instinct to be defensive. “That was… spontaneous on my part.”

“Are you in love with her?” he asked bluntly.

Helen was taken aback by the question, but maybe she shouldn’t have been. It was a valid one, after all. She just didn’t know the answer.

Bob looked at her, and his eyes narrowed as he realized Helen’s answer was not the hard “no” he’d been expecting. “Helen, I’ll support you in anything, but this… This hurts. Sleeping with the woman who tried to destroy the credibility of every super in the world, who tried to kill us and the kids and god knows how many other people? And when I ask you if you’re in love with her, you don’t even know what to say?” His voice rises, and he’s hunching toward her. “It _hurts_ , Helen. I don’t understand it.”

“I get where you’re coming from,” she admits, feeling ashamed, feeling those regrets seep into her gut. “Rest assured, Bob, you and the kids still take priority. Always have, always will. No matter what I feel for Evelyn.”

“Look, if it was just for one night, maybe I’d be able to let it go, but this… you want to _work_ with her?”

“I think it would be beneficial for her, yeah. To serve out her sentence by helping superheroes.”

“By helping _you_ , you mean. By being close to you. Y’know, Helen, I don’t know what you see in that woman. She’s cold, a-and immoral, and, y’know, not to _mention_ an attempted murderer. I thought you weren’t the type who’d get Gamma Jack syndrome, but I guess I was wrong about that.”

Helen bristled at the superhero insult. Gamma Jack, now long-dead, had been a glory days superhero well-known for falling in love with female villains. “Gamma Jack syndrome” was used to refer to heroes who developed affection for the evildoers they were meant to be fighting against.

“I don’t have Gamma Jack syndrome, thanks, Bob,” she said sarcastically, “and I thought you weren’t angry about all this. Now listen to you. _Not angry_ , my ass.”

“What, you think I don’t _deserve_ to be angry?” her husband demanded incredulously. “You sleep with Evelyn Deavor behind my back—”

“It wasn’t _behind your back_ , Bob,” she snapped right back at him, unconsciously growing a few inches taller with the help of her elastic powers. “I had no intention of sleeping with her when I went there. It happened spontaneously, and I told you everything as soon as I got home, and I am _not_ appreciating your tone right now.”

“Yeah, well, who _else_ are you sleeping with spontaneously behind my back?”

Her eyes widened at the accusation, then narrowed in fury. “Nobody! How dare you?”

“A-a-and how the hell does that kind of thing happen spontaneously, anyway? You just fell into bed with her? That sounds likely.” He was approaching a genuinely mean tone of voice now, his eyes narrowed and eyebrows scored with harsh lines, hands curled into fists at his sides. To anyone else it might’ve looked like a violent stance, but Helen knew Bob would never hurt her. He was just wounded—his pride, his sense of stability. Despite knowing this, she couldn’t help but react with more anger in turn. And a low blow.

“Oh, and you’re one to talk? What about that blonde, Bob? What was her name, Mirage? You forget your own failings pretty goddamn quickly, huh?”

“Mirage—that was nothing!” he shouted, sounding confused she would even bring that up.

“You _practically left this family_ for her, Bob!” she screamed in his face, consumed with anger. “And you’re gonna come after me for one little mistake? You are not going to be self-righteous with me, not after all you’ve done—”

“Oh!” He jabbed a thick finger in her face. “So you admit it was a mistake, huh? That’s new for you!”

“Don’t you fucking dare take that smug tone of voice with me! This isn’t about you, Bob, it’s not always about _you_ —”

“This is about me!” he roared. “This is about our marriage!”

“This is about _me!_ ” she roared right back; without thinking, she’d stretched so she was taller than him, and yelled down in his face. This fight had quickly become nasty, about as brutal of a tiff as they’d ever had. And inside her, some small voice told her to stop, told her it wasn’t worth all this, but she didn’t listen. “This is about _my_ choice, Robert Parr, and you’d better be okay with it, because it’s not going away!”

His face hardened, lost all its anger, and became a mask of bitter disappointment. He seemed to become smaller, retreat inside himself. “So, you’re choosing her over me. Is that it?”

Helen’s anger deflated, too, as she realized what she’d said. She shrunk down to her regular height, looking up at her towering husband with suddenly-nervous eyes. “No, Bob,” she said gently, her throat raw with yelling. “God, no. Never.”

“Then what did you mean by what you just said?”

“I just…” She sighed hard, buried her face in one hand. “I’m not myself, I’ve been awake almost all night. I’m just tired. I’m sorry.”

Too late, she realized the implications of yet _another_ stupid thing she’d just said. Bob stared down at her, lips pursed. “You have, huh.”

“Aw, honey.” Tentatively, she reached up and touched his cheek with one hand, a gentle peace offering. “Look, I’m sorry. For everything. You’re right—this was my mistake. I shouldn’t have slept with her without talking with you first—that was our deal, and I broke it. It’s no one’s fault but mine.”

“Honey,” Bob sighed. “I’m not upset you slept with her without telling me, I’m upset you slept with her _at all_. Can you understand that?”

She could, as much as she disliked to admit it. The previous night—and during their past conversations, too—she’d seen several sides of Evelyn Deavor, most of them brilliant, funny, positive, sardonic, remorseful, beautiful. Bob had only seen one. The smug villain. The attempted murderer.

“I can understand that,” she said quietly, flatly. “Believe you me, Bob, I can. She’s not—I mean, on the surface, she doesn’t seem the most likable person.”

Bob scoffed loudly.

“I know, I know!” she said, raising her hands in surrender. “She tried to kill us all, tried to hurt our kids. That’s not something I would put aside lightly.”

“But you _have_ put it aside,” he said stonily, crossing his burly arms. “Well, she must be one hell of a woman.”

“She’s…” Helen looked at the ground, frowning as she carefully considered her words. “…not like anyone I’ve ever met.”

“Look, are you in love with her?” her husband asked in a suddenly-low voice, and she recognized fear and nervousness in that growl, as though he was afraid of the answer—which, she knew, he was. “Just be honest, Helen. I promise. I won’t get angry.”

 _Good luck living up to_ that _promise_ , she thought wryly. She offered a shrug, which was really the only way she could respond. “I am being totally one hundred percent honest. I don’t know.” She shook her head in frustration. “Ah, sweetie, I wish I could give you an honest concrete answer.”

She didn’t feel the same for Evelyn as she did for Bob. For her husband of sixteen years, it was slow-moving trust, assurance, finding romance in familiarity and routine. For Evelyn it was fierce. It rose up in her throat acidic, like bile, and burned the rest of her body, too. That feeling was an odd interlace of protective instincts and raw anger and vicious, primal attraction. Remembering how the inventor’s body had moved and clenched and bucked underneath her own… an involuntary shudder ran through her at the memory, and it was all she could do to conceal that from her husband.

She loved Bob with all her heart, but it had been a long time since she’d felt that with him.  

She must’ve turned a little red, because Bob had tilted his head slightly to the side and was scanning her face with a frown. “You _are_ in love with her.”

“No!” she quickly said indignantly, angered that Bob would presume to tell her how she felt. “No. I’m not in love, it’s just attraction.”

“You seem to be doing an awful lot for her—for someone you’re just _attracted_ to. Let me get this straight—you plan to have Evelyn’s lawyer petition to sentence her to help you do hero work? How d’you think _that’s_ gonna pan out, Helen?”

“I think the judge will buy it,” she said defensively, crossing her arms. “It’s poetic.”

“Sure, it’s _poetic_ ,” Bob conceded reluctantly, “b-but, I mean, you’re basically giving her a golden opportunity to sabotage you!”

“She won’t,” said Helen with total certainty.

“You sound pretty sure. How can you be?”

“Because. I spoke to her at length last night. I’m a pretty good judge of character. You know that. And yes,” she said, holding up her hand to interrupt Bob as he opened his mouth, “I know I didn’t judge Evelyn correctly the first time I met her. That’s on me. But this time, I am one hundred percent certain that she’s changed. She deeply regrets everything and wants to make up for what she did. She’s _hurt_ , Bob. She’s a damaged human being, and she needs help and forgiveness, not punishment. I believe that with all my heart. You can call me a sucker or whatever you want—I’ll understand. But I’m not changing my mind.”

“So,” said her husband, “this isn’t about love, it’s about altruism.”

“It’s complicated,” Helen sighed, rubbing the bridge of her nose with two fingers. “Would it help if I promised not to sleep with her again? At least not without your _express_ knowledge and approval?”

“Yeah, that’d help, I guess. But, look, Helen, I’m gonna need some time to get used to this idea. Think it over. Okay? In the meantime… I don’t want to order you around, but I would feel better if you didn’t go visit her again. Just for my peace of mind, okay?”

Helen felt a deep burst of love for her husband, and her mouth curved into a gentle smile, reaching up to stroke his face once again. His boundaries were totally reasonable, and he was certainly making a far bigger effort than _she_ would’ve in the same situation. Hell, she probably would’ve thrown up her hands and stomped from the room at this point, if she were in his shoes.

She tried to shove away the piercing thought of Evelyn, all alone, left hanging. For months.

“Of course, Bob. I’m sorry I shouted. I get that this is all very weird for you.” She chuckled. “Man, it’s weird for me, too. But right now, my primary concern is you and the kids. Evelyn's just an afterthought.” Stretching up slightly so she could reach his mouth, Helen planted a kiss on him. “I promise.”

It may have been a lie, but it was only a little white one. Hardly the first.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I really enjoyed working on the previous story and thought I would continue it. Thank you for reading - hope you continue to enjoy.
> 
> All chapter titles come from songs from Abra's album "Rose."


	2. Is this love or harness?

Turns out, Evelyn doesn’t have to wait two years to get released on good behavior. It only takes five months.

That’s right: Evelyn Deavor—violent ideologue, known criminal mastermind and attempted serial killer—barely spends five months incarcerated before she’s set free. During the release hearing, the inventor sits behind a wooden desk in the New Urbem Superior Courthouse, acutely conscious of all the piercing eyes behind her in the pews, but holding herself erect and proud; she’ll be damned if these people see her weaken under their stares. Her lawyer—well, technically, _Winston’s_ lawyer, but still—argues her case before the judge. Who has already agreed that, due to Evelyn’s proven record of spotless behavior during house arrest, her sentence will be commuted. Commuted to _what_ , exactly, is the real question. As per Evelyn’s request, her lawyer is arguing for a very unconventional punishment indeed.

She’s still skeptical about all this: whether the judge will buy it, and whether, if he does, the end result will be a good idea for _anyone_ , especially her. But being allowed out of her penthouse apartment sounds fucking heavenly, especially after six months cooped up inside. Everything else, she’s still questioning.

Winston isn’t allowed to sit beside her, but if he were, he’d be squeezing her hand reassuringly. He’s actually sitting right behind her, and she can feel his gaze on the back of her head, giving her a _mental_ reassuring hand-squeeze. Better than nothing.

As for Elastigirl, she’s somewhere in the courtroom. Evelyn hasn’t been able to muster up the bravery to look around and locate the redhead. They haven’t seen each other in several months—after that electric night, Helen never returned, never even contacted her. It’s only through Winston’s updates that Evelyn knows Helen hasn’t abandoned her for good. That Helen’s husband has simply asked his wife to keep her distance, and she’s obeying him.

With a tiny private smirk, Evelyn briefly allows herself to relish the fact that Mr. Incredible feels threatened—feels his marriage is threatened—by _her_. Kinda has a sweet taste, that.

Her lawyer—Chet Sawyer, a portly guy of probably fifty-five—is red-faced and sweaty (his default state) as he argues to the judge. “…and in becoming a member of the super community, as it were, Ms. Deavor would have a chance to offer reparations for her past actions, through her service to the superheroes she would assist. She’d have an opportunity to use her, ahem, considerable technological talents for the benefit of the very people she previously attempted to destroy. What better opportunity to demonstrate her remorse and make amends?”

The judge holds up his hand, cutting Sawyer off. “Mr. Sawyer,” he says tiredly, “I’ve heard more than enough, thank you.”

Evelyn’s breath catches in her throat and she unconsciously leans forward, not daring to breathe. Is Judge Jackson going to deny her this chance? She hadn’t realized, up until this moment, exactly how much she fucking _wants_ this.

“More than enough from _you_ , anyhow,” the middle-aged, gray-haired judge continues. “I’d like to hear some informal testimony from Elastigirl. She is the one who suggested this, is she not, Mr. Sawyer?”

Sawyer nods vigorously. “Yes, Your Honor.”

“Is she present in this courtroom today? Stand up, please, Elastigirl.”

Evelyn’s stomach turns somersaults. She, along with the rest of the courtroom, scans the room, waiting for Elastigirl to show herself.  

A female voice clears her throat, and in the back-right corner of the courtroom, opposite from Evelyn, a woman slowly stands up. A redhead. Evelyn’s breath hitches. It’s Elastigirl, but without her suit, without her mask, dressed as an ordinary woman in a blue sweater and pitch-black slacks. She’s cut her hair since Evelyn last saw her, only a little, but noticeably. Hesitantly, she raises her hand. “Uh, Your Honor? My name is Helen Parr. I’m Elastigirl.”

Evelyn’s mouth drops open. Revealing her secret identity is a dangerous game; there are probably fifty people within earshot, and now, they all know who Elastigirl truly is. Helen’s playing with fire. And all for Evelyn.

“Okay,” says Judge Jackson firmly as the room erupts into nervous whispers, “I’m invoking the Super Identity Protection Act of 1952. This knowledge does _not_ leave this courtroom, and you’re all bound to obey that order, under pain of a five thousand dollar fine, or a year’s jailtime. Is that clear?” When the whispers don’t subside, he bangs his gavel hard, causing instant silence. “Is that _clear_ , I asked?”

Everyone silently nods or says “Yes, Your Honor,” including Evelyn.

“Very good. Elastigirl, would you please answer a few questions for me? No need to take the stand. This is all informal.”

“Yes, Your Honor.” Helen doesn’t look phased by the revelation of her identity. She only looks stoic, calm, determined. Like a pillar of strength. A very sexy pillar of strength.

Oh shit, did Evelyn actually think that?

The judge beckons. “Please approach.”

Helen leaves her bench, edging past a few shocked-looking people who had been sitting beside her, and approaches the judge’s stand. As she stops a few feet away, she sneaks a brief glance at Evelyn. As their eyes meet, the inventor can’t read her face. Fuck. She hates not being able to read people.

“Ms. Elastigirl, I hear you’re the one responsible for this unorthodox idea,” says the judge. “I must say, it’s unlike anything I’ve heard before.”

“I appreciate that, Your Honor.” Oh, hell, hearing her voice again—that slight rasp, Jesus—turns Evelyn’s blood slow and hot in her veins. She’d forgotten how warm Helen makes her feel. How weak.

Helen continues. “I’ve had the opportunity to speak with Ms. Deavor at length. I believe she’s truly remorseful for her actions, and that she wants a chance to show her remorse. I came up with the idea of having Evelyn do community service as a sort of assistant to the super community.” This time, she doesn’t just _glance_ at Evelyn—Helen looks at her, really looks, captures Evelyn’s gaze with her own, and smiles warmly. “Back last year, when I was working with Ms. Deavor, she designed me a motorcycle. Your Honor, it was frankly the best piece of tech I’ve ever worked with. If Evelyn can do that caliber of work for other superheroes, she’ll be a valuable asset to all of us.”

Evelyn smiles back at Helen, a wry quirk of her lips, just before Helen turns back toward the judge.

Judge Jackson is frowning down at Helen. “With all due respect, Elastigirl—and I do trust your judgement, don’t get me wrong—how can you ensure that Ms. Deavor won’t attempt to sabotage the supers she’s assigned to help?”

Elastigirl shakes her head. “I can’t guarantee that, Your Honor, to be perfectly honest. I’m confident that she won’t, but that’s just me. If she does, I’m prepared to take full responsibility.”

“Hmm.” The judge continues to stare at Helen, but seems to be thinking hard as well. After a moment, he shakes his head. “I believe the risk to the superhero community, if they’re made to rely on Ms. Deavor for assistance, is far too great.”

Evelyn’s stomach drops and she slumps back in her chair, trying to act unfazed, as though she hadn’t been hoping fiercely for this chance. She feels a hand—Winston’s—on her shoulder, squeezing reassuringly. Her lawyer’s already sputtering. “Your Honor, if you’d just—’

Judge Jackson raises a hand impatiently. “I am not _done_ yet, Mr. Sawyer.” His eyes turn to Helen. “Ms. Elastigirl, since you’ve said you’ll take full responsibility for Ms. Deavor, I propose a slightly amended version of your idea. I hereby release Evelyn Deavor of her house arrest, but sentence her instead to a year’s community service. Ms. Deavor, you are to work with Elastigirl and Elastigirl _only_ , providing assistance wherever needed, relating to said super’s hero work.

“I also rescind your ban on working with technology—you will be allowed full access to whatever resources you need to design technology for Elastigirl’s benefit. However, I am also imposing a curfew of eight o’clock in the evening ’til eight o’clock the next morning, and you must spend at least four hours per day in the company of Elastigirl, on weekdays only. Do we understand each other?”

For her part, Evelyn is slowly growing a smile, though she tries her best to keep it under wraps. That sounds _amazing_. Access to her workroom? No more house arrest? Holy shit. “We understand each other perfectly, Your Honor,” she says as respectfully as she can manage.

As for Helen, she’d looked happy enough—at least, up until the point where the judge said, _You must spend four hours per day in Elastigirl’s company_. At that point, Elastigirl’s face fell, and it’s still fallen. “Er, judge? Four hours per day seems a little… _overboard_.”

Judge Jackson looks tired at this point, his eyes drooping, as though he’s starting to find this case a little boring. “Take it or leave it, Elastigirl, your choice. I warn you, though—if you don’t accept my terms, Ms. Deavor won’t get this chance. The terms I’ve established are for the safety and benefit of everyone.”

Evelyn’s fists clench at her sides, and she stares Helen down. _Please. Please just say yes. For me. Please._

Helen looks none too happy, but she nods. “All right. I accept.”

“Then it’s done. Ms. Deavor, you are free to go.”

He bangs his gavel one last time, and both their fates are sealed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for any inaccuracies, I don't know jack shit about the law.
> 
> Thank you for reading.


	3. Take me far away from here

There were times when Helen regretted a whole lot of stuff.

For example, as she exited the courthouse only to be assaulted by a monsoon of journalists shoving cameras and microphones in her face and shouting directly in her ear, she regretted _everything_.

Of course, the vultures were only swarming Helen because she happened to be right next to Evelyn Deavor, the real object of their obsession. They didn’t know Helen from Adam, which was good, considering how her heart was still pounding out of her chest from revealing her secret identity to an entire courtroom.

There hadn’t really been a choice—without her testimony, the entire hearing would have been a lost cause. But heck, she hadn’t _enjoyed_ doing it. It made her feel bare, exposed. Saying “I’m Elastigirl” without her mask on? It felt like bile was erupting from her throat, burning all the way. It was a potential danger to herself and her whole family. A truly idiotic thing to do, really. As a grown woman, she should’ve known better.

Still, though. She’d done it.

Helen hurried down the courthouse steps, right behind Evelyn, as she, the Deavor sister, Evelyn’s attorney, Winston, and several burly bodyguards pushed past the swarm of reporters. Helen kept her head down, brow furrowed with annoyance, trying to make herself unnoteworthy. As far as any of the reporters knew, she was just part of Evelyn’s entourage, perhaps an assistant or a friend. Nobody knew she was Elastigirl. And she wanted to keep it that way.

She heard the questions being thrown at Evelyn, Winston, and the attorney. None of them were particularly pleasant.

“Mr. Sawyer, are you proud of yourself for getting a known terrorist off the hook after such a short sentence?”

“No comment,” the lawyer snapped shortly.

“Mr. Deavor, do you expect the public face of DevTech to be tarnished by the events of this hearing today?”

“I expect DevTech to keep on thriving as we’ve always done,” responded Winston cheerfully but firmly, not slowing down while he answered the question.

A camera jutted inches away from Evelyn’s face as she descended the stairs. “Ms. Deavor, do you still hate heroes? Do you intend to sabotage Elastigirl?”

Evelyn shoved the camera away, causing the man behind it to stumble on the steps. “No goddamn comment.”

They reached the bottom of the steps, where a limousine waited, back door held open by a black-suited attendant. As Evelyn, Winston and Sawyer piled inside, Helen was the last, and a particularly ballsy reporter stepped directly in her way before she could get in the car.

Helen, already on-edge and high-strung, intended to cuss a blue streak, but the reporter rattled off a question before she could open her mouth. “Madam, how do you know Ms. Deavor?”

Cornered, Helen tried to edge around the reporter while offering a surly response. “We’re old friends.”

The reporter stepped in her way once again, pushing a microphone towards her. “Ma’am, just one question: do you feel justice has been served here today?”

Helen felt a blaze of irrational anger at the silly question. “Justice,” she snapped, “is an extremely complex thing, it can’t be reduced to a sound bite, and would you _please_ get that damn mic out of my face!” With that, she pushed past the reporter and finally managed to dive into the back of the limo. The door slammed shut behind her, and moments later, the limo began to roll away, leaving behind the swarming crowd.

Helen fumbled with her seatbelt, still consumed with annoyance. “Ugh,” she growled as she couldn’t quite manage to get the two parts together. “Dammit!”

“Here, let me.” Cool hands touched her own. Evelyn, who was sitting beside her, deftly clicked the seat belt into place and smiled sardonically at her. “Tough crowd, huh?”

“Vampires,” she grumbled, slumping back in her seat. “I’ve had more than enough of them to last a lifetime.”

Winston, who was on the other side of Evelyn, burst out: “Helen, that was _great_. Just a spectacular showing from you. Remind me to get you to testify again sometime, huh?”

“I’d prefer not to. Man, that was embarrassing,” she sighed.

Evelyn quirked a curious eyebrow. “Was it?”

“Are you kidding?” she demanded. “Revealing my identity in front of everyone? It’s like… ugh., you know how people have nightmares about giving naked speeches in front of their entire high school assembly? It’s like that. Only worse. And plus, if anybody in that courtroom opens their mouths about it, my _kids_ could be endangered. That’s _my_ worst nightmare.” She felt a flare of guilt at this thought.

“So. Why’d you do it, then?”

Though Evelyn’s expression was neutral, Helen saw the knowing smirk beneath. If she’d been a few percentage points less angry and flustered, she would’ve returned it with a smirk of her own. The obvious answer was _I did it for you_ , but Helen didn’t give the obvious answer. “I wanted you to owe me,” she replied flatly.

Evelyn blinked in surprise before Winston interrupted their conversation. “Sawyer!” he said jauntily, slapping the man beside him on the back. “You’ve been awful quiet. Any thoughts?”

“Things turned out well,” muttered the attorney; leaning past Evelyn, Helen could see that the short, balding man was intently studying some papers in his lap. “I’m happy with the result. Of course, it was mostly thanks to you, Ms. Parr. I’m glad you showed up today—frankly, I didn’t even think to invite you. That was a mistake on my part.”

“Wouldn’t have missed it.” Helen gave Evelyn a tight but genuine half-smile. “This whole thing was my idea, after all.”

The inventor coughed delicately. “Uh, yeah, about that… you looked kinda pissed about that whole ‘babysitting me for four hours every day’ thing. You okay with that? Or do we need to barge back in there and renegotiate?”

Helen rolled her eyes, scoffed, and stared out the window, watching the storefronts of New Urbem’s downtown core roll by. “I don’t think there’s any negotiation with that judge. We’re stuck now.”

It was true she wasn’t happy about that. _Unhappy_ didn’t even begin to cover it, actually. It was totally unreasonable. She was a mom with three kids to care for, for crying out loud, _and_ a full-time superhero! She didn’t have time to watch Evelyn _four hours every day!_

Not to mention how much this would annoy Bob. And for good reason, too. She knew he’d eventually stop arguing and just accept it, but there would be resentment there, a fray in the fabric of their relationship. An Evelyn-sized fray. Growing bigger and more unwieldy with each passing day.

But Helen would manage it. She’d shift her schedule around it, contorting to meet the demands of her life, as she always did. After all, if she _didn’t_ , she’d technically be breaking the law.

Elastigirl did a few hours of hero duty almost every day, after all. She’d just find a way to work Evelyn into that time. As for Bob, she’d deal with him. He was already insecure about her relationship with Evelyn—a relationship which Helen herself wasn’t even _close_ to figuring out yet—and hearing this news would make him even more antsy. It warranted a long, calm, respectful discussion over two glasses of wine, sans kids. Because this wasn’t going away. And both of them would have to find a way to deal.

Perhaps too optimistically, Helen reflected that their marriage had survived _far_ worse.

Evelyn was gazing at her, looking concerned. “Uh, earth to Elastigirl. You look a little zoned out. Everything okay?”

Snapping out of her train of thought, Helen shook her head. “Nah, I’m fine.”

Evelyn shifted slightly in her seat, and Helen saw discomfort in her. “Look, if you’re not okay with this whole thing,” rasped the inventor hesitantly, “just… say so. Alright? We’ll work it out. I get that you’re a big trendy super with a full schedule and everything. You… you don’t have to…”

It wasn’t often that Evelyn Deavor fumbled so awkwardly with her words, and a rush of surprisingly-sweet affection warmed Helen’s blood. “Hey, don’t worry about it. I’ll figure it out. Four hours a day isn’t that bad. Could’ve been worse.”

Evelyn scoffed, looking away. “Yeah. He could’ve ordered you to move in with me. What a mess that would’ve been. Elastigirl: permanent nanny. Not very dignified, huh?”

Helen playfully nudged her, still feeling affectionate. “Hey, nice concept for a TV sitcom, huh? _Villain and Hero: Roommates!_ Just imagine the wacky adventures we’d have.”

The Deavor sister rolled her eyes and snorted, a harsh puff of air. “Hey, I hope no big-shot producers bugged this car, or we might see that on the airwaves in a few months.”

Sawyer the lawyer looked up sharply from his papers. “Bugged? What’s bugged?” 

 “Nothing, Chet,” sighed Evelyn. “Forget it.”

“So, Helen, Ev.” Winston spoke up, sounding more somber. “I hate to be the bearer of bad news, but as much as I like the fact that you’ve got more freedom, Ev, this really isn’t gonna go over well with the public. Helen, we’re going to have to ramp your publicity campaign into overdrive to make up for those members of the public who will feel alienated by this.”

“Overdrive, huh?” she said dryly, feeling all the free time she’d previously spent with her kids slipping away from her grasp. “What will that entail, Winston?”

“Ah, don’t worry, I’ll take care of the bulk of it. All you have to do is continue doing hero work while wearing your suit camera. And, ahem, I’ll probably be inviting you to partake in a few more publicity events than usual. Ship christenings, key-to-the-city ceremonies, that kinda thing. But it’s all for the greater good,” he said with that authentic businessman’s smile. “And ultimately, I think this arrangement will be beneficial for _both_ of you. Evelyn, your image will be rehabilitated, and Helen, you’ll get instant access to the best technology this side of Japan.”

“You’re like my muse,” Evelyn murmured, almost—but not quite—too quietly to hear. For some reason, hearing that made Helen flush.

From the corner of her eye, she took a second to glance, but _really_ glance, hard, at Evelyn. Dressed in a sharp, metallic emerald-green blazer over a seafoam-green blouse and black pants, she looked like poison, or envy, or any other dark emotion. Her clothes hung oversized on her skinny frame, but this served to make her look fashionable, like a model from Paris or Milan. As usual, she couldn’t sit properly like a normal person, with one leg tucked under her on the seat; one of her arms was resting on the seat behind her, almost possessively, while the other sat at her side, palm open like an offering. Her eyes are lidded, as though she’s sleepy. She had cropped her dark mop of hair even shorter since Helen last met her, closer against her scalp. Helen distractedly wondered, without even thinking, what that hair would feel like when she ran it through her fingers…  

 _When?_ Not _if?_

Winston’s voice cut through her thoughts. “Well, Helen, where are we dropping you off?”

Good question. She thought a moment: where did she want to go? The kids were at school, and Bob was taking a “boys’ day” with Jack-Jack. She didn’t need to be home for a few hours. And she _could_ use some time to work out the logistics of their new arrangement with Evelyn.

“How about home with you?” she asked Evelyn. “We have some things to discuss, after all.”

The other woman’s tone was quite neutral when she spoke. “Indeed we do, Mrs. Parr. Indeed we do.”

Helen heard the clear implication in Evelyn’s words, though Winston and the lawyer wouldn’t know their significance. _Mrs. Parr._ The words meant more than anyone else in the car could comprehend, and Helen couldn’t help but shoot Evelyn a warning glare. Evelyn returned her gaze right back. Fearless.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey sorry this chapter is sorta short and not much happens. I'm kind of struggling with writers' block at the moment! Hope you'll stay patient with me and you continue to enjoy the story.


	4. Your thorns are showing

Evelyn’s kind of petrified.

She’s trying, as usual, to mask her true feelings, to hide them under a devil-may-care disguise. But the very instant she said those words to Helen, she regretted it, and she still does now. She’s so goddamn stupid, she can’t afford to alienate Helen now, idiot idiot _idiot!_

But also. She couldn’t help but make the insinuation. _Mrs. Parr_ , she’d said coolly. Her intention was to remind Helen that they’ve got more to discuss than just hero business. That there’s something between them, coiled snakelike, pulsing like a beating heart, awkward and dangerous and impossible to ignore. And Helen’s husband is in the way.

Or maybe _Evelyn_ is the one in the way. After all, she’s not the one who Helen has twenty years’ history and three kids with. That thought makes her retreat within herself, sulky like a child.

There’s something good to savor about this day, though: this is the first day in months that Evelyn has been allowed to walk freely outside without guards following her every step. Usually, court-appointed police officers bring her to and from her court dates, and they also supervise her return to her penthouse-slash-cage, so that she doesn’t try any funny business. The escort makes her feel antsy, paranoid, _watched_. Now, though? Her house arrest has been revoked. The officers aren’t here. She’s free to come and go. She’s free. It’s intoxicating.

The limo pulls up beside the curb outside her tall apartment building in the wealthy sector of New Urbem, and when the driver opens the door, she steps into the sun, stretching like a cat, a free woman at last. Helen exits onto the pavement behind her, looking a little unsure.

“I’m sorry, Ev, I wish I could be with you,” calls out Winston glumly from the backseat of the car, “but…”

“…you’ve got a meeting,” she speaks the words simultaneously with him, droning along. “I know. Come visit me later, Win. We can figure out how to get somebody from the court to come and get those damn bars off my door.”

“Absolutely! See ya later!” he says cheerfully. The door closes, cutting her off from her brother, and moments later the limo rolls away. She feels his absence hard. They’ve always been so close, even when they have their disagreements, even when—she hides a smirk—one of them is literally trying to kill everything the other one ever hoped for. (Her bad.) He’s the one person she can share everything with. Almost everything.

“C’mon, Elastigirl,” she says, giving Helen a half-smile and beckoning towards the door to the building. “No point in standing around in the cold.”

It _is_ cold, surprisingly so. It’s only mid-September, but the temperature is in the low thirties, not exactly what the weathermen predicted, and Evelyn’s blazer is woefully inadequate against the chilly air. Helen, dressed only in a sweater and slacks that don’t even cover her ankles, must be even colder. She follows Evelyn into the building, but reluctantly, as though she’s afraid of something.

And Evelyn can’t blame her. Despite everything, what hero can ignore their instincts to willingly and trustingly enter a villain’s den?

 

They reach the very upstairs hallway, the door to her luxurious penthouse. Evelyn feels powerful, dominant, when she reaches into her pocket and produces the key that’ll remove the iron bars blocking her door. She pushes it into the lock. _Clink, clank_ , and the inventor grins triumphantly as the iron door swings open. “Christ, that feels good.”

“You really hated that door, huh?” Helen remarks wryly as Evelyn opens the _real_ entryway and enters her home.

She turns around, walking slowly backwards into her apartment and grinning as she regards Helen. “Nah, me and that door were _real_ close friends. He’s a friend of my second cousin.”

After closing the door with a soft click, Helen jerks a thumb behind her. “So the door’s a _he_.”

“Eh.” Evelyn shrugs. “I’m just guessing. Hey, door,” she mock-calls towards the iron door which they can’t even see now, “if you’re a girl, I apologize. I didn’t know, I didn’t mean to be insensitive, and I hope you can forgive me.”

Helen snickers, and for a moment Evelyn just allows herself to relish that look on Helen’s face, feeling an unwelcome rush of warmth at the sight of the other woman’s smile. It feels _damn_ good to be the cause of that smile. Scary good. Yup, Helen is still her weakness. A chink in her armor.

But then Helen crosses her arms, and speaks flatly and bluntly, and all that disappears. “We need to talk. Seriously, Evelyn.”

She shrugs again, molding to the situation, and makes a sweeping gesture towards the direction of the living room. “After you.”

In a minute, when they’re sitting down at opposite ends of Evelyn’s sofa in her comfortable living room, Helen clears her throat. She’s sitting sideways on the couch, her legs crossed at the ankles and pressed against its side, knees caught between her interlaced hands. She looks so… _fuck_ …

“So you’re going to be my assistant,” says Helen.

Evelyn forcibly clears her mind, as though there’s a tiny Evelyn up there violently clearing away the cobwebs with her bare hands. “Yeah. That seems to be the case.”

“And I have to spend four hours with you every weekday. And you’ve got an eight pm curfew.” The redhead scoffs without humor, scowling. “Darn, I wish the judge would’ve consulted with _me_ about that. I do the majority of my hero work in the evening and night. So how’s that gonna work out? I’m going to have to cut into my time with my kids and Bob.”

Evelyn lifts her shoulders, lowers them. “We’ll figure it out.”

“Yeah, but that’s what I wanna do _right now_. And I just—” Helen raises a clenched fist and lowers it just as quickly, sighing.

“Whoa,” says Evelyn mildly. “Chill out, you’re getting overheated. Do you want a drink?” Her mildness disguises a sense of intense disappointment. So Helen _does_ despise this court-ordered arrangement. Evelyn _is_ a burden. Typical. Figures.

“Nah, I don’t think getting hammered is the best idea right now,” Helen says dryly, her exasperation seeming to melt away. “But I appreciate the offer.”

“Alright, so let’s itemize what we know.” She leans her side against the soft material of the back of the couch, propping her head up on an elbow and regarding Helen with lidded eyes. “Eight pm curfew for me. And we have to spend four hours every day together. I have unrestricted access to my workroom, but I think the expectation is that you’re gonna monitor what I do. Make sure I’m not cooking up any end-of-the-world schemes.” When Helen doesn’t respond, Evelyn says, “You trust me, right? You trust me not to cook up any schemes? I’d understand if you don’t, by the way. My record of trustworthiness isn’t particularly impressive.”

She’s trying to come off as cool and uncaring, but she realizes she’s just reading as desperate, and feels foolish and angry with herself. _Yeah, sure, Ev, just keep saying stupid thing after stupid thing, sure_.

But Helen smiles slightly, warmly. “You know what? I do trust you. The judge clearly doesn’t, but I do.”

“Really?” She can’t keep the surprise from her tone.

Helen shrugs. “I mean, maybe it’s foolish of me, but yeah. I really don’t think you’re plotting anything, or that you’re _planning_ on plotting anything.” She tilts her head to the side and chuckles. “Then again, I’ve trusted you before. With decidedly mixed results.”

“For what it’s worth, I’m not,” Evelyn says quickly, total unabashed honesty for once overruling her desire to come off as cool and calculated. “I have no plans. No schemes. I just want to get through my sentence and redeem myself as best I can. I’ll swear on any god you want. I’ll swear on my parents. Not that I believe swearing has any spiritual significance, I don’t put any stock in that hokum, but if it’ll help.”

Again, she’s convinced her words sound stupid and clumsy to Helen; again, she’s proven at least partway wrong when Helen gives her a clear and honest smile. “Hey, you don’t need to swear on anyone. You’ve got my trust already.” The super’s smile fades, her look becomes serious, a frown furrowing her eyebrows. “But if you break it…”

“…it’s lost forever,” Evelyn finishes. “I get the picture.” And she doesn't intend to break that trust, at least, not as far as she can help it. It's miraculous enough that she _has_ Helen’s faith in the first place.

“Look,” the heroine says seriously, “I do believe in second chances. But not third ones. For now I have faith in you, but if you give me any reason to doubt that faith, I _will_ tell the relevant authorities and you _will_ go back to prison.”

Evelyn snorts. “ _The relevant authorities_. You always sound so—”

“I _mean_ it, Evelyn,” Helen interrupts her sharply, staring straight into her eyes.

For a moment hero and ex-villain just stare at each other, something wordless passing between them. “Ever the super,” says Evelyn softly, not sure what she means by her own words.

Helen ignores her. “So, you’re going to be my assistant. We need to figure out the logistics of that.”

“Yeah, you’re right, we do,” mutters the Deavor sister, trying to shake off the tenseness of the previous minute. “So here’s what I need to figure out. What tech do you require? Because it seems I’m gonna be serving you in a design capacity. It’s all about what you want and need for the purposes of your hero work. Just gimme a vague idea. How do you operate? Whaddaya _want_ , Elastigirl?”   

“An Elasticycle,” blurts Helen immediately, without a second of hesitation.

“Whoa. That was quick,” she says with a wide grin, unable to keep herself from responding to Helen’s obvious enthusiasm.

“Yeah, I know you’re probably itching to come up with different designs,” says Helen, becoming a little more subdued, “newer designs. But that bike was… _wow_.”

“An adrenaline rush?” inquires Evelyn, still smiling.

“More than that! The way it moved with me, let me stretch, the way it purred along the road, the _speed_ …. I mean, Evelyn, the thing was darn near perfect. If you could give me another one of those—not even improved, just the same thing—I would be so grateful. It would be such a help.”

Already Evelyn’s imagining the blueprints she’ll draft, the enhancements she’ll make, the way her screwdriver, wrench, and pliers will feel cool under her hands, the way the wires will coil around her fingers like little Medusa-hairs, the way the display screen will _snick_ satisfyingly as she wiggles it into place on the dash… the way Elastigirl will _look_ riding the cycle… She almost gets lost in it.

“Are you kidding? _Not improved?_ ” she demands sarcastically but with genuine joy. “I’m gonna upgrade the hell out of that thing. And I’m gonna have the time of my life doing it, too.”

Helen beams at her. “That would be incredible! Oops, no pun intended.” Before Evelyn can snort in response, a suddenly-energetic Helen has moved onto a new topic. “Evelyn, oh, I just got another idea. Gauntlets!”

“Gauntlets?” Evelyn repeats, frowning while still smiling.

“Yeah! Ya see, my strength lessens in proportion to how far I’m stretched. So when I’m trying to clock a fleeing bad guy, ehhh, things don’t always work out. _But_ —if you designed me a pair of gauntlets to wear, that might minimize the problem!” she finishes excitedly, looking kind of like a kid at Christmas.

“Nononowaitwaitwait,” blurts Evelyn, waving her hands. “Elbow rockets.”

Helen blinks. “Elbow huh?”

“I’ll whip up a pair of elbow rockets! To increase the momentum of your arms! It’s genius!”

It takes a moment of staring before Helen realizes Evelyn’s not serious. The heroine bursts into a fit of snorts. “ _Elbow rockets_ …”

“C’mon, you’d look stellar in them!” Evelyn mock-protests. “I can see it now. They’ll shout your name in the streets. Elastigirl: the… er… rocket-powered stretchy woman.”

This only serves to make Helen double over in laughter. “The rocket-powered…” she manages to wheeze.

“It’s not _that_ funny,” Evelyn mutters, but once again she’s struck with the urge to spend a lot more of her time trying to make Helen laugh.

Because the rewards are really, really worth it.


	5. Now the lines are so crossed

Helen had spent the past year having dreams.

She’d never been a dreamer before. Sure, she’d head the supposedly scientific statistic that everybody dreams and the people who think they don’t dream just don’t  _remember_ , and maybe that was true in her case too. But for the sake of brevity, Helen just told people who asked: “I don’t dream.” It was close enough to the truth.

She first started dreaming after her family’s encounter with Syndrome. Nightmares, in point of fact. It’s funny: back in the day, she’d faced _far_ more threatening villains than Buddy Pine, and she’d never woken up screaming after a battle with any of  _them_. When she mentioned this to her husband (during one of their numerous murmured talks in the aftermath of the incident on Nomanisan, trying to sort out their feelings and their fears), Bob placed a gentle hand on her shoulder and said, “Honey. It’s the kids.”

It struck her then. She only ever dreamed about her children in danger. It was never about _her_. It was about the abject horror of standing some distance away from Dash and Violet, seeing them in mortal trouble. It was about flying through wisps of cloud, seeing her children fall alongside her towards the ocean, and being unable to do anything about it. Seeing them blown to bits in an exploding jet. Seeing Syndrome’s leering face peering at them, constructing his own designs for their fates. Unable to move or act. Screaming against her bonds.

She’d only just started to recover from these dreams when she met Evelyn Deavor. After the  _Everjust_  nearly decimated New Urbem’s coast, the nightmares started again with a vengeance, and it was much the same.

Her children. In danger, in peril, in pain, in fear, and Helen helpless. On the prow of the boat, reaching out for her. Arms’ distance away, and yet she could never ever stretch far enough to pull them to safety. There was always a difference of inches. Always.

She’d wake up in the way you’d expect a terrified mother to awaken from a nightmare like that. Drenched in sweat, the salt even coating her tongue, chest heaving for breath, eyes wide and full of frustrated tears. “Dammit,” she’d growl in the dark, exasperated by her own inability to stop waking up in the night. Her fists unconsciously clenched in the sheets, as though the material was actually her kids’ super suits in her hand.

Sometimes Bob would wake up with her, her solid rock, and he’d hold her until they both managed to drift off again. Sometimes he didn’t, and she was left to fend off her demons alone. 

It wasn’t _then_ that she hated Evelyn Deavor the most, though.

It was when she woke up in the mornings, the sounds of her kids ringing through the house: their arguments, their laughter. When she sat at the breakfast table and watched them wolf down pancakes and OJ like there was no tomorrow. The little things infuriated her. Violet’s flyaway black hairs. How Dash looked so much like his dad. The way Helen felt when she spoon-fed her baby son.

It was when Helen saw these things that she remembered Evelyn had almost carelessly snatched them away. And Helen calmly and furiously thought,  _Huh. I’ll never forgive the bitch._

This was, of course, not strictly true. 

 

It was a Tuesday, the first day of her sentence. The sentence she shared with Evelyn Deavor: four hours a day to be spent together, the criminal under the hero’s watchful eye. Helen felt supremely annoyed whenever she thought about this, and she couldn’t help but feel like childishly growling or stamping her feet, as though it would make any difference. To be turned into a babysitter? It just wasn’t fair, not to either party—not to mention _livable_. That judge didn’t know what in the hell he was doing.

When she’d told Bob about the judge’s ruling, Helen had entirely expected him to react with annoyance and anger, and she wouldn’t have blamed him at all. And, to a certain level, he did. Her husband had raked a hand through his thinning blonde hair and frowned. “They can’t do that to you, can they? I mean, it’s a punishment on you just as much as a punishment on her. And not to mention our family.”

“They  _can_  do that to us, and they will,” she informed him with tired flatness. “There’s honestly no use fighting it, Bob.”

“No use fighting?” He laughed without humour. “Uh, who are you and what’ve you done with my wife?”

“I’m still Helen,” she joked. “For now. If this sentence doesn’t beat every last ounce of life force outta me.”

“Yeah, but I mean, four hours a day… hon. That’s just _wrong_.”

She thought the same. Evelyn wasn’t a super, only a civilian, which meant Helen couldn’t exactly take Evelyn with her when Elastigirl did hero work, which meant that the four hours a day she had to spend with the inventor were  _in addition_  to her hero work. It was ridiculous, and almost insurmountable, and she wasn’t entirely sure why she was doing it.

Elastigirl might benefit. After all, Evelyn was a tech prodigy, and she could create things that would make Helen’s superhero life a hell of a lot easier. Despite herself, Helen almost drooled at the thought of a new Elasticycle. And in addition, the arrangement could only lead to a closer relationship with Winston Deavor, which wasn’t a bad thing at all. Winston was the most prolific and enthusiastic superhero benefactor in the world. To be closely allied with him... well, it was every super’s dream. And by helping his sister escape further jail time, Helen was strengthening their bond. He’d be a friend for life. 

But still.

Four hours a day. 

She saw the inventor’s face with her mind’s eye, where it was permanently seared. Ice-cold blue eyes, always exhausted and lidded. Full lips curved into a smirk. Square jaw. Harsh cheekbones. She looked like a _villain_. 

Was she trustworthy? Helen wasn’t the type to believe the best in people; she was a realist. But from what she’d seen of Evelyn’s behavior after the  _Everjust_  incident, the inventor seemed broken, eager for a chance to show her regret. Helen recalled Evelyn’s words, the time Helen had visited her when she was under house arrest. They’d clawed their way into Helen’s heart, taken up residence there, and refused to leave.

Talking to herself as a younger woman, the inventor had said, with such vehemence:  _Don’t waste your life. Don’t hurt people to retaliate for your own hurt. Don’t let the pain rot your core. Love and be loved. Be a real fucking human being._

The rawness of the words was what had struck Helen. She didn’t think Evelyn was capable of faking such rawness. She could fake nonchalance, sure, but the emotional honesty she’d shown wasn’t something Helen believed was a lie or a manipulation on Evelyn’s part

Helen wasn’t naïve, but she did fancy herself a good judge of character, and she thought Evelyn was genuine.

Then again, she’d thought that before, too. And look where it’d gotten her.

In any case, today was a Tuesday, and her sentence was set to begin. She’d decided to get an early start on things—get the four hours out of the way earlier in the day, so that she’d have more time to spend doing hero work and being with her family later. Helen was a woman of schedule. Ten o’clock to two o’clock. She would be done before her kids were even out of school. She’d seen them off earlier, with knapsacks strapped to backs and rubbing sleep out of their eyes as they boarded the school bus, none the wiser. Violet and Dash knew nothing about the sentencing, and as long as Helen could, she’d keep it that way. Better for everyone. Dash might not care if he knew, but Violet would instantly be on-edge about this situation, and Helen couldn’t blame her daughter for that. Best to keep her children out of this. For as long as she could. She and Bob agreed on that.

Dressed in her red-and-black super suit, Helen stood in the doorway of their home and stretched up to give her normally-dressed husband a kiss. “See you later, sweetie.” She hesitated—unsure if she should add these next words, afraid they might make things worse. “And thank you, Bob, for being so good about all this. I know it must be difficult for you. Hell, it’s difficult for me, too.”

Bob sighed, opened his mouth but didn’t speak for a few moments, and Helen could see her husband was weighing his words carefully. They were suspended in time for a second. And Helen, suspended between two people who were as unalike as night and day.

As Bob struggled to think of something to say, Helen very briefly—but for what felt like an eternity—thought about the difference between Evelyn and her husband. The latter: solid, dependable, pleasant, unthreatening, her best friend. The former: snakelike. Incalculable. Risky. Emotions running hot and cold on both sides. She was a land mine. Might blow if you step on it, might not. She was _danger_ , in a way that Bob wasn’t.

Bob finally said, “Uh, yeah, it’s difficult, but… I trust you, honey. If anything goes wrong, I know you can take care of yourself.” He placed a warm hand on her shoulder and smiled. “I’ve got faith. Always have, always will.”

“You must feel like you’re sending me into a hungry lion’s den,” Helen said wryly with a dark half-smile.

Bob grinned down at her and she saw his jokey side slipping through.

“Now why would I be worried about that when you’re a tiger?”

 

A taxi ferried Elastigirl through the city’s downtown core. As they drew closer to the glitzy entertainment and business districts, old brownstone buildings slowly gave way to grander, skyscraping towers of glass and steel that mirrored the cloudless sky above, each one taller than the last. And the tallest of all belonged to DevTech.

The DevTech building’s tallest tower pierced the sky like an elegant needle, a few smaller adjoining towers climbing up beside it like stairs; Helen had always thought the building resembled a stack of poker chips. On the side of one of the buildings, a symbol she’d become quite familiar with in recent months: the DevTech symbol, a stylized blue diamond overlapping with a darker blue circle.

The taxi let Elastigirl out in front of the main entrance, and she stood there on the concrete for a moment, staring up at the tower until she felt a surprising shock of vertigo. She was meant to meet Evelyn in “Room F-4-13,” but she had no clue where that was or how to find it. Evelyn hadn’t exactly been forthcoming with instructions.

Oh, well, she just had to forge ahead. Elastigirl headed into the building, pushing aside the futuristic glass doors and striding into the marble-floored lobby with confidence written all over her face. Her boots clacked on the floor as she approached the receptionist’s desk.

“Excuse me—could you help me find room F-4-13?”

The prematurely silver-haired receptionist glanced up at Helen, then did a double take. “Elastigirl! Good morning! Yes, Ms. Deavor warned me to expect you.”

“ _Warned?_ ” Elastigirl echoed with an awkward laugh. “Seems kinda ominous, doesn’t it?”

“Poor choice of words,” the receptionist admitted, standing up and brushing himself off. “I can help you find the room you’re looking for. Just follow me, ma’am.”

But even if it _was_ just a poor choice of words, as the receptionist led Elastigirl through the building’s labyrinthine halls, Helen couldn’t help but feel like Evelyn wasn’t exactly jazzed about her arrival.

The receptionist led her through the halls, past doors both open and shut, and then down a series of stairs—it took them so long to descend that Elastigirl thought they must be hundreds of feet deep into the earth, which made her nerves fray, though she tried her best to ignore the oncoming wave of claustrophobia. Their footsteps clanked against the metal stairs, producing an echoing noise up the stairwell, and the receptionist’s voice echoed too as he explained. “‘F’ denotes the building. There are six buildings that make up the DevTech complex; ‘A’ is the tallest, while ‘F’ is the one we’re in right now. ‘13’ denotes the floor. In this case, the lowest floor in ‘F’ tower.”

“Yeah, I kind of figured,” said Elastigirl, trying to banish her uneasy feeling as they descended even further underground. “How far under _are_ we, anyway?”

“Quite far. Ms. Deavor has always preferred to do her work in more isolated areas, where she’s less likely to be disturbed. With the touchy nature of her job, you can understand that.”

Helen nodded knowingly. “Yeah, confidential stuff, huh?”

“Not only that, but Ms. Deavor prefers to work alone without being bothered. But yes, confidentiality _is_ an important factor. There are rival companies who would fight tooth and nail to get ahold of DevTech’s designs before they hit the market. Secrecy is paramount.”

“Yeah, I bet.” To a certain degree, Helen could understand and relate to this. After all, she’d chosen a career that demanded secrecy, too.

Finally, they reached the bottom of the stairwell. The receptionist pushed open a door, revealing a bleakly metallic hallway beyond. “Room 4 is just down the hall. Have a good day, ma’am.”

“Yeah, you too,” Helen said as brightly as she could manage, “and thanks.” She stepped through the door, trying to fight the feeling that she was entering a coffin. If there was one thing Elastigirl hated, it was underground spaces, and this wasn’t exactly the _nicest_ underground space in the world, either. The walls were metal. The floor was green carpet, but Helen could feel metal under her feet as she walked across it. The light was dim and artificial, and all down the long hallway, each door was closed. It felt neglected, robotic.

Quickly, she headed down the hall, trying to get out of here as quick as possible. Each door was marked with a black number sign smack in the middle, and door four wasn’t far away. She reached it quickly and pushed it open, revealing—

Oh.

For some reason, terror lanced through her at the sight. Evelyn, sitting in a dark room. Her back to Helen, sitting in an office chair and hunched over a desk. Wires were tangled across said desk, and other various electronic components too, in a messy disarray. A desk-lamp beside Evelyn provided the only light—that is, aside from whatever instrument the inventor was holding. Helen couldn’t see, but Evelyn was doing some sort of tinkering; blue sparks were flashing and a quiet buzzing noise was the only sound in the room.

For a moment Helen did nothing, only stared, filled with an irrational fear. Evelyn was free to design. To create. To do whatever she wanted with technology.

Maybe this was a bad goddamn idea.

Her foot scuffed against the floor, and the noise alerted Evelyn. She didn’t stop her tinkering. “Elastigirl. I was beginning to think you weren’t going to show up.”

Helen pushed aside her fears. “Of course I was going to show up. I’m not about breaking the law, Evelyn.”

The buzzing noise stopped and the inventor turned her chair around. Her face was hidden by a protective metal mask, a narrow slit covered by dark glass allowing for vision. Her mouth was visible, though, and her lips curved into a smile—one that Helen read as genuine—at the sight of Elastigirl.

“Where’s the nice costume _we_ gave you?” asked the inventor with overdramatic offense.

“Gathering dust in a cardboard box somewhere,” Helen admitted calmly, folding her arms.

“What? You don’t trust me?”

“Nah, I know that suit was fine. It just wasn’t _me_ , Evelyn.”

“Oh, and _that’s_ you?” Evelyn gestured at her. “That ugly thing?”

Despite wanting to remain cool, Helen bristled. “Hey, it’s _not_ ugly—”

“No, you’re right, it isn’t.” Evelyn paused for a moment. “Just looks better on your husband than you. That’s all.”

She could hear an implication in Evelyn’s words, which only caused her to bristle even further. “If you’ve got something to say to me, come right out and say it.”

“Aright. Fine. I think it’s kind of pathetic that you wear a _family suit_. What, do you drive a super minivan, too? I mean, Jesus, you’re _Elastigirl_. Not _Mrs. Incredible_. Give me a break.”

Helen wanted very badly to yell at Evelyn—what the hell was the inventor doing, presuming to know jack about Elastigirl’s life and family?—but she restrained herself just in time. “Okay,” she said tightly. “If that’s your opinion, you’re entitled to it.”

The other woman lifted her mask and smirked. “I know you wanna scream at me. You can if you want. I only speak the truth.”

Elastigirl opened her mouth again, scowling, ready to snap _This was a mistake_ and storm right back out, courts be damned. But before she could, something broke in Evelyn’s expression and her smirk disappeared. “Look, forget I said all that,” she said, a little awkwardly. “I’m sorry. I don’t mean to, you know, antagonize the hell out of you on our first day. I’m just opinionated.”

“I know you are,” Helen muttered, anger still simmering. Evelyn’s bluntness and honesty could be one of her best features at times. It could also be one of her worst.

Evelyn’s hand, encased in a thick protective glove, jutted out at Helen. “Fresh start, Mrs. Parr?”

“Please don’t use that name again,” said Helen in a no-nonsense tone that let Evelyn know not all was forgiven, but she did stretch over and shake the inventor’s proffered hand.

To her surprise, Evelyn didn’t argue that point. “C’mon over here,” she said, turning back towards the desk in her swivel chair. “Check out what I’ve been working on. They’re not finished yet, but I’m pretty proud of ’em anyway.”

Helen approached the desk, leaning over the inventor’s shoulder. Illuminated in the dim light from the single lamp was… what looked like a pair of goggles, with thick rims and opaque black lenses, a few wires sticking out of the side.

Helen’s heart rose into her throat. “My god, Evelyn,” she breathed. “You can’t be serious.”

Evelyn turned slightly toward her, that smirk back on her face. With a burst of anger, Elastigirl realized that Evelyn fully understood the depths of her fear and was _amused_ by them.

Maybe Helen was wrong. About everything.

“Relax. They’re not hypno-goggles.”

“Prove it,” Helen snapped, a direct order.

“ _Relax_ ,” Evelyn repeated. “Jesus. They’re night vision goggles. I know you do a good chunk of your hero work during the nighttime, when it’s more difficult to see. These will make things brighter. They can also zoom and enhance, or switch to infrared vision or thermal vision.”

“Do you understand the optics of this?” Helen asked, hands unconsciously curling into fists with the force of her indignation.

“Pun intended, I take it?” Evelyn replied with a knowing grin.

“I’m _not_ joking. After everything that happened, I can’t go out there and do hero work with those goggles on. Even if I _did_ trust you enough to let them anywhere near my eyes. Which I don’t!”

Evelyn blinked at her. “I know you don’t trust me—”

“I don’t,” Helen affirmed.

“—but hear me out. I didn’t create these goggles to make your life harder. They’re supposed to be a good thing.”

“Don’t tell me you weren’t trying to scare me,” Helen growled.

“Eh, maybe a little bit.” Evelyn shrugged. “But you gotta admit, this is _practical_ , Elastigirl. Don’t you struggle to see in the dark? I know your powers don’t afford you enhanced night vision. Every super should have a pair of these.”

Elastigirl folded her arms, a protective gesture as much as an angry one. “In your ideal world, they would, wouldn’t they.”

Evelyn didn’t respond, just blinked lazily at Elastigirl, catlike. Once again, Helen was rendered unsure of anything and everything. The vulnerable woman she’d once thought she loved was gone, replaced with someone fully unreadable.

“Okay, so the goggles are out,” Evelyn finally said. “I’m sorry, you’re right, shouldn’t have suggested them. Let’s forget that. I’ve got something else for you too.” She removed her gloves one at a time, tossing them onto the desk, and rising from her chair. “Follow me.”

Still frowning, Helen did follow Evelyn, who led her to a dark corner of the room. Evelyn commanded, “On,” and the room was instantly flooded with light, revealing the metallic frame of…

“Is that another Elasticycle?” Helen demanded, her anger not entirely forgotten, but seeming a little further away.

“It’s gonna be, when I’m done with it. I know it’s not too pretty at the moment, but it’s just the bare bones for now. I still want to know everything you need from it.”

“Well, I…” Elastigirl was briefly struck dumb as she tried to think up a list. “I’d like it to split into two components, like the last one did.”

“Yup, it already does,” Evelyn confirmed, a knowing smile curving her lips.

“And… look, Evelyn, I honestly can’t think of any improvements you could make. The last Elasticycle was perfect.” She knelt beside the metal frame, running her hands over the spokes and bars. Evelyn was right: it didn’t look too good at the moment. But already Elastigirl was lost in dreams of what would be. Herself zooming down the street, wind in her face, free. Chasing criminals with more ease than ever before.

When she snapped out of it, she looked up at Evelyn, who was grinning at her like a kid at Christmas. “I knew you’d like it. And, hell, it’s not even close to finished yet. You’re an easy woman to please, Elastigirl.”

“Yeah, just give me a fast bike and I’m yours.” She stopped herself. Realizing how that’d sounded.

Evelyn’s expression didn’t change. “Then I’ll make it faster than any you’ve ever ridden before.”

There was something of a challenge in those words—no, an _acceptance_ of a challenge. Helen quickly changed the subject, rising to her feet. “You got anything else to show me?”

“Just blueprints. Wanna see?”

“Hey, we’ve still got four hours to kill,” said Elastigirl with a tight smile, the remembrance of that fact causing annoyance to rise in her chest again. “I’ve got time.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I apologize for a long absence - some unexpected stuff happened around the New Year, but now I'm back on my feet and ready to write. Your kind comments and kudos mean so much to me, and I hope you continue to enjoy this redemption story.
> 
> Side note: I know things are a little iffy since the Incredibles and Deavors canonically live in Metroville (where DevTech is located if I'm not mistaken) while my story takes place in New Urbem, but a lot of things about the location of I2 are quite confusing. I'm going to just headcanon that New Urbem and Metroville aren't very far apart, that the Parr family moved to the former after the events of I2, and that the Deavors have a DevTech building in both cities. Sorry for any confusion. I'm confused too, haha.


	6. Hourglass

In retrospect, the goggles were a bad idea.

Evelyn internally shrugs. Yeah, she knew that. Some subconscious—or maybe not so _sub_ —part of her mind wanted to get a rise out of Helen. Wanted to see Elastigirl on-edge. Wanted to remind the heroine that, despite everything they’ve shared together, Evelyn is not a kitten to be played with. She’s a little fiercer than that, yet. She’s got claws.

And maybe some other part of Evelyn doesn’t believe she deserves love, or a second chance, and wants to sabotage all venues for getting those things.

Ha. Shut the fuck up, Dr. Phil.

In any case, she’s led Elastigirl to another corner of her workroom, where she sits down at another desk set against the west wall, this one covered in a mess of strewn-about blueprints. Elastigirl peers over her shoulder; she can feel Helen’s presence there, hovering. In equal measure comforting and disquieting. A heroine who’ll protect her if there’s trouble—or attack her if she _is_ the trouble.

She presses a palm flat against one blueprint, shuffling it to the left, bringing it to the surface. She can’t help the minute amount of smug excitement that works its way into her voice, and into the smile she flashes at the other woman. “Check it out.”

Elastigirl stares. Silence.

For a moment, Evelyn’s starting to wonder if _this_ was such a good idea, either.

Finally, Elastigirl speaks. Evelyn can’t read her tone. “Evelyn, that’s a sweet idea, but I… can’t wear a costume of yours.”

“It’s not Galbaki,” Evelyn says quickly, swiveling in her chair to face the redhead. “If that’s what you’re worried about.”

“Nah, the Galbaki suit was fine. What I’m worried about is wearing a suit designed by _you_ ,” says the superhero pointedly.

Though a little stung, Evelyn supposes she should’ve expected this. She masks the sting with a smirk. “Ouch, Elastigirl. Prefer to cling to your _family_ suit?”

This is apparently still raw territory, from the angry curve that forms on Elastigirl’s lips. She plants a hand on her ample hip. “Yeah, actually, I do prefer this suit. Problem with that? It’s one of the most breathable fabrics in the world, yet virtually indestructible. I’ve been through plane crashes and car crashes and gunfire and everything else you can name in this thing, came out without a scratch on me. No offense, but I think Edna Mode’s the only one in the world who can deliver this kinda quality.”

“You talk fast when you’re angry,” notes Evelyn, smiling slightly. It’s a cute quality. This, she doesn’t say aloud.

She still remembers the feeling of Elastigirl’s flesh under her hands, every inch of that flesh—under her mouth, too—and this, she tries her best to push away, because it’s irrelevant.

For now, at least.

Helen calms, but keeps her hand on her hip. “Yeah, well, maybe I’m sick of hearing you knock my suit. I’ve been through hell in back in this costume.”

“Yeah, well, maybe I’m sick of hearing you knock _my_ suit before you’ve even tried it. Mine will be everything the Mode suit is, plus more. It can stretch to your maximum extension— _plus_ a full meter, to allow for comfort. It can withstand over six thousand degrees heat— _and_ absolute zero. It can camouflage on command, blending into any surface. And, yes, it will be able to mitigate your hot flashes. Should that be something you’re worried about.”

“Hey! I’m not old enough to get hot fl—”

“Save it for someone who cares. I don’t judge.” She continues breezily, enjoying the look of indignation on Helen’s face. “Huh, haven’t even told you about the built-in helmet yet, have I? It’s hidden in the fibers of your suit, but when needed, it’ll emerge and cover your head, protecting you from heat, cold, or, y’know, whatever. Just for some added safety. The gloves are lined with a titanium alloy— packs a mean punch when you’re aiming at criminals, but light as a feather on your hands, and it’s as dextrous as you are.”

She almost throws in a zinger— _And from firsthand experience, I know just how flexible you can be._ With added smirk for spice, of course. But she stops herself, because thank god, for _once_ , she manages to muster a modicum of self-control.

And also because she’s not a little in love with Elastigirl, and saying such a thing would hurt _her_ , too. As much as her coal-hearted self doesn’t want to admit that.

Helen doesn’t look too convinced. (Evelyn wants to change that.) “Yeah, it sounds great in theory, but it’s just blueprints for now, Evelyn.”

“You want to see the real thing?” She can’t stop herself from leaning forward and grinning. She’s eager to design this costume for Elastigirl. Eager like a schoolgirl wants to impress her favorite teacher, like a newly-hired intern wants to impress their boss, like an idiot wants to impress someone unattainable. “I’ll construct it for you. Just say the word.” Echoing Elastigirl’s words from earlier: “I’ve got time.”

Though Evelyn isn’t the best at reading people, she’s sure she notices Helen’s face soften. For what reason, she isn’t sure. “Well, look, I can’t promise I’ll wear it. For one thing, Edna would kill me.”

“Oh, please.” She leans back in her seat with a snort, wishing she had a martini glass to sarcastically sip. “That tiny old broad? You could take her.”

“Have you _met_ Edna? Don’t be so sure. Anyways, besides that… I’ve changed suits so many times. I don’t know how the public would react. I want to have a _brand_ , Evelyn—I want people to recognize me. Y’know?”

“Yeah,” she admits, “I get that. But if it’s any consolation, look closer at the design. The chest, specifically.”

Elastigirl approaches the desk yet again, bracing her hands against the wood and leaning forward. In profile, she makes a gorgeous picture. The curve of her nose and forehead. The edges of her hair, strands dipped in gold and crimson. Her brow furrowed in concentration, Jesus Christ alive, Evelyn has got to _stop_ this. She forces herself to concentrate on something else. She wishes she could just _stare_ , and feel okay about staring. In some alternate universe, maybe she’s doing just that.

But then Elastigirl lets out a small noise of appreciation. When Evelyn looks again, the heroine is looking at her, wearing a half-smile. “Huh. You included the old Elastigirl logo, huh?”

Evelyn returns the smile. “Yup. Wouldn’t have been able to live with myself if I didn’t. I don’t have a colored version yet, but I plan for the new suit to reflect your old colors. White and red. Maybe with a little bit of gold thrown in.” She studies Elastigirl’s face like a novice painter studies Michelangelo’s most famous works. “That sound good, Mrs. Parr?”

When Elastigirl grins back, Evelyn wishes fireworks didn’t go off in her chest in response.

“You know what, Ms. Deavor? That sounds fantastic.”

 

She spends a long time—time so long that its very meaning slips away from her—modifying the suit with Helen’s help.

Sketching it, scratching parts out, sketching again. Adding features and then taking them away. Brainstorming—actually sketching one of those brain map things you draw in grade school, just to log all the different ideas that she and Elastigirl come up with. Crafting multiple versions of the suit on blue paper. Helen has ideas about everything, including the exact length of the gloves and thigh-high boots, to the _inch_ , because she’s been working as a super for the better part of twenty years, and she knows about these things. She and Evelyn debate. And they laugh. And they debate some more. And they work as a team. And when they think they’re done, they sit back and stare at their final design, as though they’ve collectively birthed a baby.

“Wow,” says Helen, glancing at the other woman appreciatively. “Y’know, I wasn’t sure about this when we started, but I really think we’ve got _something_ here.”

The way she says _something_ …

Damn. Never mind.

She leans back in her seat, exuding nonchalance, letting the chair’s back creak and tilt with her weight. “Yeah, well, as long as _you_ like it. I’m not the one wearing it, after all.”

Elastigirl snorts, a puff of air. “Yeah. I can just imagine you in a super suit…”

“Hey, maybe that’s not such a bad idea.” She’s being so sarcastic, her voice practically drips with it. “Me as your sidekick. Wonder Girl, or… I dunno, something. The dynamic duo.”

From the way Elastigirl’s face loses all life, Evelyn knows she’s said the wrong thing. “I know you were joking, Evelyn, but supers don’t really allow civilians to fight crime on the front lines with us. It can get messy. It _does_ get messy.”

“Yeah. You’re right, I was joking,” she says flatly. For some reason, even though she knows Elastigirl is being perfectly rational, the rejection still smarts. “Don’t worry, I’m perfectly happy just being the voice at the other end of your radio.”

“Good.” The heroine’s face softens again, smile returning to her lips. “Y’know, if you were a super, I don’t think that’d be your name. It would be… um, I dunno, Techno Girl or something.”

“Techno Girl?” She stares at Helen incredulously, then barks a laugh. “That’s awful.”

“Hey, I came up with it on the spot. Let’s see you do better.”

“Voltage,” she immediately says, perhaps a little too quickly.

Elastigirl stares at her quizzically. “You’ve thought about this before, haven’t you?”

“Um.” She shrugs, rolling her eyes. “Maybe.”

“You _have!_ ”

“In my darkest hours of drunkenness,” Evelyn says sharply, “maybe I’ve thought about what it’d be like if I was a super. Maybe I imagined myself with the power to control tech. But hey, guess what? I already _have_ that power. So what’s the point? It was a stupid dream.”

It’s not strictly true. In her younger days—before the murder of her parents—she disliked superheroes and everything they represented, yes. But superheroes were the most popular, flashiest, most colorful, daring celebrities in the world, and with Winston around to constantly remind her of this fact, Evelyn couldn’t help getting a _little_ caught up in the craze, too. At one point, maybe she did create a super persona for herself, an imagined, sketched costume and powers (mostly dreamed up by an eager Winston, but with Evelyn’s input, of course). But it never went further than that.

Voltage, however, in Evelyn’s opinion, is still a pretty badass super name.

Elastigirl is still smiling at her. Smirking, in point of fact. “Voltage, huh? And the power to control technology. Maybe in another universe, that’s you. Suit and all.”

“Sure. In another universe where pigs fly.” She flashes a look at the glowing green digital clock that hangs on the eastern wall, but to her dismay—and, perhaps, equal relief—there’s still two hours left for today.

 

With every moment she spends with Helen, Evelyn further regrets her choice to deliberately test Elastigirl’s trust by presenting her with those stupid goggles. Because Elastigirl’s trust is such a beautiful thing to have. Even if only by degrees.

The way the heroine relaxes, starts to slump more comfortably in the office chair she’s dragged over to Evelyn’s desk, rather than sitting bolt-upright as though standing at attention. The way she starts to smile and laugh more easily. The way they start out talking about serious hero matters, but their conversation slowly evolves to more interpersonal conflicts. Politics, news, morality, the weather, even. Absolutely everything, even the most boring of subjects, becomes a treat to discuss when it’s with Elastigirl.

And Evelyn is still unsure whether she loves or loathes that fact.

“—and then, do you know what Winston says?” She’s not drunk, but with her face so red—she can feel it, hot and stained with laughter—she might as well be.

“What? What’d he say?” Elastigirl is giggling through her words.

Evelyn attempts (what she thinks is) a pretty decent Winston impression. “He says, ‘President Eisenhower, no offense, sir, but the pen’s been in your breast pocket this entire time.’”

Elastigirl bursts out into inelegant snorts of laughter. “God,” she manages through her wheezing.

“I know! Eisenhower’s so embarrassed, he gets in his private limo and flees the party the first chance he gets. Hell, Winston was embarrassed about it, too. Wished he’d never said anything. Then again, after that rant—”

“He needed to be told,” Elastigirl agrees, still grinning. She’s leaning toward Evelyn, and god, they’re too close for comfort. “Man, your family’s met some interesting people, huh?”

“Just about every interesting person on the planet. Trust me, I’ve got more stories.”

“Huh. I’d like to hear them.”

She snorts, staring at the ceiling. “Four hours a day with me, for a year. Pretty sure I’ll exhaust my supply of wild tales within a week.”

“I still wanna hear them. It’s the way you tell ’em, you know. There’s something about it. So sardonic.” Something changes, a light switch flicking in Elastigirl’s eyes. “How’d you get so cynical, Evelyn?”

The Deavor sister—because that’s just about all she’s ever been—shrugs. “A combination of things, I guess. Living in my brother’s shadow. Losing my parents. And genetics probably had a say in it, too. I was practically born disillusioned. But hey, we’re not here to psychoanalyze me.”

“In a way, we _are_ ,” Elastigirl points out, mouth quirked in a half-smile.

“Yeah. I guess, in a way,” she mutters uncomfortably, not liking where this line of conversation is headed.

But then Elastigirl casts a glance over at the clock, and the moment breaks. “Damn, it’s two. I’ve gotta run.” True to her word, she’s already on her feet. And Evelyn’s already sad to see her go. Already wants to grab her arm and haul her back into the room. Just one more hour. Please.

She pauses in the doorway with her hand on the doorknob, glances back at Evelyn. “Same time tomorrow, Ms. Deavor?”

For some fantastically stupid reason, hearing Elastigirl call her “Ms. Deavor” couldn’t possibly get any sexier.

“Same time tomorrow, Mrs. Parr,” she agrees, and watches the superhero leave with half-closed eyes, already feeling drained.


	7. What's with the resistance baby?

“I dunno, Helen. I just can’t help but feel… some type of way. You know?”

Helen listened to the frustrated, halting voice of her husband. Already angry from his previous words, she slammed her palms down on the bed where he was sitting, producing a dull thump. “For God’s sake, spit it out, Bob. _What_ type of way?”

“You. Alone. In a dark room with Evelyn Deavor. For four hours. Every day. For a year.” As he kept speaking, her husband’s tone started out defensive, but slowly grew more nervous and quieter, hesitant, as though he was terrified by the very words he spoke.

“Do you trust me?” she asked, staring at him with no expression, voice flat.

Bob stared back. There was a fraction of hesitation before he replied—too much hesitation for Helen’s comfort. “Well, yes, honey… but…”

“Let me guess,” she interrupted. “You trust me, but you don’t trust Evelyn.”

“That’s about the size of it,” he agreed, shifting uncomfortably. “Look, for my peace of mind, could you just tell me what happened today? In _detail_?”

“Well, let me see.” Helen had been in the middle of stripping off her super-suit when Bob had started this quasi-argument. Only dressed in her bra from the waist-up, she sat down on the bed, still staring her husband straight in the eyes. “She showed me some of her new designs, the tech she’s gonna create for me.”

“Such as?”

She decided to omit the goggles, because it would just spook Bob further. “A new Elasticycle, a new super suit—”

“Whoa, whoa, whoa. A new super suit?” Bob’s tone was laced with throaty indignance. She couldn’t blame him, but still, defensiveness surged in her.

“Yeah,” she said simply. “And?”

“Well, honey…” With how lost he suddenly looked, Bob caused Helen to feel surprisingly tender. He struggled with his words, and she could tell he was making an _effort_ , an effort to avoid sounding too accusatory, an effort to avoid provoking her, an effort to avoid a fight. And she was grateful. Oh, was she.

“…we wear the same costume as a family,” he finally said, quite diplomatically, Helen thought. “That’s our _thing_. Edna designed those suits for us.”

“Yeah, well, maybe it’s time for a change,” she shrugged. Sweetly, she stretched across the bed with her left arm and touched his cheek. “That doesn’t mean I’m leaving the family or anything, sweetheart. It’s just a costume.”

“We both know that a super suit means more than that,” he sighed.

And he was right, as much as it cut Helen to admit it. Super suits were far more than a simple costume: they were an identity, they were how supers presented themselves to the world. A super’s costume would be seen on television sets across the country, proclaiming their personality through the colors and symbols, and proclaiming their loyalties through the designers they chose to support.

And if Helen chose to support _Evelyn_ …

Well. Can of worms, right there.

“We collaborated,” she argued, trying to fight past her own misgivings as much as Bob’s. “The suit’s as much _my_ design as hers. She basically only handled the technical stuff and the colors. I had the final say on everything else. The suit is _mine_ , Bob. And to be frank, I’m excited about it.” She snorted, remembering. “Man, it’s an improvement on the Galbaki suit, that’s for darn sure.”

“Well, if you’re so certain about it, fine,” Bob huffed. (The huffing let Helen know that he _wasn’t_ fine with it.) “I just don’t think it’s the best thing in the world. Actually, I don’t think anything about this is a good idea—”

“Do you trust me?”

He blinked at her. “What?”

“Do you trust me?” she repeated, hard voice and hard eyes staring straight into his own. “I’m asking you to trust me. To make my own decisions, to make my own judgements about Evelyn, about all of this. And I’m also asking you—” She patted his cheek very gently. “—to stop being jealous.”

“Jealous,” he repeated.

“Yeah, jealous. Listen: I’m _yours_. Always have been, always will be.” She flashed back to their wedding, warmth blossoming in her chest as she recalled how much love she’d felt on that day. “As long as we both shall live, remember? Nobody’s going to change that. Not even her. Can you trust me on that? Please?”

“Now hold on! Jealousy isn’t the issue here—”

“Yeah it is,” she interrupted, giving him a knowing look. Of this, she was one hundred and ten percent sure.

Her husband seemed ready to argue, but deflated at the last moment, letting out a sigh and no longer meeting her gaze. “Maybe you’re right, hon. It’s just… I keep remembering that you’ve slept with her, and that just… it just makes me…”

“I know, but Bob…” Her chest tightened in frustration, exasperation at his failure to put trust in her. “ _You’ve_ slept with others outside of our marriage before. And you’ve always come back to me. That’s our arrangement, and I’m not planning to break it anytime soon. You hear me? You can _trust_ me. I _love_ you.”

“Yes. I know, honey.” He looked her in the eye again, clear blue eyes piercing her own. “But she’s different. She tried to kill us. She tried to kill our kids. She tried to destroy everything we stand for.”

“And…?” But Helen knew where he was going.

“And,” he said, “you went back to her anyway. So…” Her husband sighed, shrugged his broad shoulders. “Whatever you feel must be _pretty_ damn strong. That’s all.”

And he was right.

Of course he was.

 

All in all, Helen’s day with Evelyn had been… fine. Even enjoyable. Even _good_. The four hours hadn’t felt too long, and they’d laughed and they’d done good work together, and Helen could really see this relationship _going_ somewhere. When she thought back on those four hours, she felt warmth blossoming in her.

The same warmth she’d felt when she remembered her and Bob’s wedding. So _that_ was great.

Exhaling harshly, she turned over in bed, darkness enveloping her. The sheets rustled, then silence, and she was left alone with her thoughts.

Her feelings for Evelyn were becoming less and less complicated with the more time they spent together, which was both comforting and frightening. Helen prided herself on being blunt and rational and on _knowing_ how she felt at all times, on being clear about her own feelings. And so, Evelyn Deavor had initially been a frustration. Reconciling love with hate.

Now, there wasn’t all that much hate to reconcile.

But somehow, that was even worse.

Things were still complicated. Things weren’t quite untangled yet. They had a lot to work through, her and Evelyn. And Bob, too. And the kids… oh. Helen’s fists, pressed against her chest, clenched as she thought about what would happen if the children found out.

Bob was one thing. The kids were another. She couldn’t pretend she didn’t care what they thought. She did, desperately. And Helen could only imagine Violet’s loss of trust in her, if her shrewd teenage daughter found out that Helen had been spending time with Evelyn, _helping_ Evelyn, the woman who had almost annihilated them all. It would be a betrayal to her.

And, maybe, rightfully so. No matter how much they laughed together, no matter how well they meshed together, Helen could not look into Evelyn’s piercing blue eyes and see anything other than the face and soul of a villain.

But, stubbornly—because stubbornness was Helen’s default mode—she pushed these thoughts and feelings aside. No. It didn’t matter. Helen had made up her mind for herself, by weighing the pros and cons and making an informed series of choices, and if anyone at all wanted to question her judgement, well—too bad for them.

It was _her_ choice how she wished to spend her time. _Her_ choice who she chose to save. And hers alone.

And if something went wrong, she would deal with the consequences herself. She was a big girl; she could handle herself.

She hoped.


	8. You're in full bloom

No matter how much she loves her (childish, sometimes _painfully_ enthusiastic) brother, Evelyn can’t help but admit: sometimes, Winston is uncomfortably like a shark in the water.

It’s morning and the Deavors are holding court in a rather ominously-structured boardroom, located in the highest heights of A-tower at the DevTech complex. The room is narrow, but with a vaulted ceiling so high, Evelyn can scarcely find it in the dark. And it _is_ dark, the boardroom barely-lit. A tactic of Winston’s. With a wink, he calls it “ambiance.” Evelyn calls it “instilling a sense of fear.”

She’s unsure if their guests are afraid, but nonetheless, Winston appears to be closing the deal quite capably. The Japanese investors and Winston are sitting at the other end of the table, still talking business after half an hour. At the beginning of this meeting, the investors had been demanding, with no room for leeway, a 50% stake in all profits from DevTech’s latest invention (should the investors convince their government to equip its soldiers with it). By the tail-end of the meeting, Winston has finagled that number down to 14%. Throughout the discussion, he never stops showing his teeth. They glint in the dark. Evelyn, sitting idly at the end of the table and playing no part in the discussion beyond observation, notes that her brother’s molars look especially sharp tonight.

After much shaking of hands and exchanging of pleasantries, the three investors depart the room, the shutting of the door—metal on metal—causing a loud click as they leave. The second they’re gone, Winston grins at his sister. A _real_ grin, this time.

“They’re gonna finance the SmartShield. What do you think of that?”

“An absolutely flawless victory,” she deadpans. “I especially loved how you threatened ’em.”

“Threatened?” He looks startled. “What gave you that idea?”

“When you told ’em they’d probably never do business with DevTech again if they didn’t lower the percentage. Very…” She punches her brother lightly, ironically, on the shoulder. “…convincing.”

He frowns, hurt. “I didn’t say it _quite_ like that…”

“Ya did, actually.”

“No, I was slightly more subtle about it, I like to think.”

“Perhaps,” she allows, shrugging. “I heard it clear as day.”

His grin returns. “That’s just because we know each other.”

Her brother, the shark.

“Anyway.” He claps his hands together. “Wanna head out for an early brunch?”

She agrees—not because her stomach is rumbling, but more because she’s starting to feel a particular buzz in her head that calls for a drink, and she knows Winston will take her to Il Cavallo, a trendy little spot around three blocks away from the DevTech building well-known for its finely aged wines. Fifteen minutes later and they’re sitting together in a window booth at Il Cavallo, fine aromas drifting around them. Evelyn leans her chin on her hand, watching passersby drift on the sidewalk.

“You okay?” Winston asks.

She blinks. “Yeah, sure. Why?”

“You seem distracted.” He flashes a knowing smile. “You thinking about Elastigirl?”

Actually, she was thinking about the SmartShield, and a certain design improvement she was planning to make, if only Winston hadn’t rushed production in order to have that meeting today. “Yeah, sure,” she says blithely. “Sure I was.”

It’s not a bad guess, though. Mostly because she _has_ spent a majority of the past twenty-four hours thinking about Helen Parr. About her smirk, sarcastic but somehow also kind, the smirk that appears when she’s right about something (which she very often is). Her intelligence—blistering at times. Her heart. Her daring. Her humor. Everything.

“Oh, so I’m proven wrong again. Enlighten me, what _were_ you thinking about?”

“The modifications I wanted to add to the SmartShield. And how _you_ wouldn’t let me.” She takes a sip of her wine, giving Winston a pointed look from over the rim.

“Hey, we had to close the deal,” he protests lightly.

“I know. Don’t worry, I’m not _really_ mad. I’m just, y’know. Daydreaming.”

“My sister, daydreaming about tech,” he smiles. “What else is new?”

Their food arrives. For Evelyn, a delicate bowl of minestrone; for Winston, a huge plate of rigatoni and garlic bread on the side. Her brother tucks a silk napkin into his shirtfront and begins to wolf down his food. Evelyn picks at her soup, if such a thing is even possible, barely taking a few sips. The wine is tastier, anyway.

Her brother speaks through a mouthful of pasta. “C’mon, would you eat, Evelyn? It bothers me when you don’t.”

“Sorry. Old habits.” And he’s totally right, too. She picks up her bowl, holds it to her mouth and drains it within six or seven gulps. Very bad table manners, but when you’re Deavor rich, it doesn’t matter. In fact, almost _nothing_ matters.

Winston swallows, waits a moment, then speaks—softly, very gently, leaning across the table so their words are just between them. “If you’re still having those—y’know, urges… I can get you together with a therapist. It helped me after Mom and Dad passed. I’m sure it’ll help you too.”

The urges to hurt herself. Getting half-dead drunk, starving herself, pushing everybody away. They’ve started to fade since she was released from house arrest, but they’re not totally gone, and she has to fight them every step of the way. And, to be honest, she’s not a hundred percent convinced that she doesn’t deserve them.

She’ll be damned before she spills her guts to a therapist, though. She’s still too proud by half.

She changes the subject. “Hey, did you notice the waiter who brought our food wasn’t the same as the waitress who took our order? What’s up with that?”

“I’m sure it’s nothing.”

She leans back in her seat, crossing her arms. “Nah, I don’t think it’s nothing.” Because Evelyn saw the way the young waitress’s face dropped when she saw Evelyn at the table, the way she took their order with a drawn expression, the way she scurried from their table like the hounds of hell were after her.

Because Evelyn is still a convicted terrorist and she knows it, and so does everyone else.

Winston knows, too. She sees the expression that flashes across his face, tight and angry, for only a split instant before he becomes neutral again. He starts to saw at his garlic bread with his fork and knife. “If people want to act rudely, we can’t stop them. It’s their right to be badly-behaved. Just, too bad their parents didn’t raise them to be kinder.”

Her brother still loves her and believes in her, perhaps more fiercely than ever before, and sometimes it makes her want to cry like an idiot.

“So,” her brother says, tone artificially bright as he raises a slice of garlic bread to his mouth, “what about Elastigirl?”

“What _about_ her?”

“How’re things going?”

“We’re meeting again today. Twelve o’clock, this time. Her son had a dentist appointment.”

“That’s not what I asked,” says Winston mildly, clear blue eyes electric as they stare into her own.

“Okay, damn. How are things going… hmm.” She taps her chin, pretending to think. _I’m more in love with her with every moment, and I have to conceal that from everyone, most of all her, and you, and myself_. “Well, she didn’t kill me on the first day, so that’s something.”

“Har, har.”

“We collaborated on a super suit design. She had…” Evelyn chuckles. “A _lot_ to say. In the end, it’s mostly her design, not mine. Though of course, I’m handling the techy stuff.”

“Spectacular!” Winston cries, smiling widely. “What’s it look like?”

She smirks. “Hey, you have to wait just like everyone else, baby brother.”

“C’mon,” he pouts. “Not even a hint?”

She pretends to ponder for a moment. “Well, alright, I’ll throw you a crumb. Red, white and gold.”

He lights up even further. “Sounds jazzy. You’re trying to emulate her old suit, I’m guessing?”

“That’s the idea.” She still remembers watching Elastigirl on her television screen… oh, it must’ve been almost twenty years ago, when Evelyn was just a kid. Her crimson and ivory super costume, tight as a second skin, flashing and glittering.

Even with her ideological stance against supers, Evelyn couldn’t (and can’t) deny: Elastigirl has always looked good.

Winston takes another huge bite of pasta, and speaks through the food. (Sometimes, when he’s excited, even Winston forgets the manners their parents carefully taught them.) “Mm gud oo t’re—”

“Swallow first,” she says flatly.

He does, then repeats. “I’m glad you two are working together so well.” He beams at her, genuinely seeming thrilled. “And you seem… better. Happier.”

Evelyn frowns, blinks. “Huh?”

“You do! It’s true. You’re practically glowing. She’s having a good effect on you already, I can see it.”

Evelyn’s surprised to hear this, but. Well. If her brother, who knows her better than anybody else, sees a change in her, then maybe it’s true.

“Another year of this, and you’ll be practically rehabilitated,” Winston spits past a mouthful of garlic bread.

She scrapes her spoon across the bottom of her empty soup bowl, gathering up the dredges, which she then collects with her tongue off the spoon for a final burst of flavor. The soup’s last hurrah. “Maybe so,” she says guardedly as the taste bursts on her tongue.

“Aha!” He points a finger at her. “Ya see? The _old_ Evelyn would’ve argued with me about that. She would’ve said, er…” He puts on a decent Evelyn impression, which mostly involves making his voice slightly higher. “ _Rehabilitated? Me? When pigs fly. I’m the devil incarnate_.”

She snorts, looking out the window at the passersby again. “Maybe you’re right about everything, Win. Maybe Elastigirl tamed the savage beast. I dunno yet. We’ve only spent four hours together so far, which is less than jack shit on the cosmic scale. Another four hours, and everything could change. I’ll keep you posted.”

“My sister, the pessimist,” he says, and sounds a bit disappointed about it, too. As though he’d really believed she could change in that regard. “I’m still hopeful.”

“Hopeful that?”

“That she’ll rub off on you,” her brother says with a gentle smile. “That you’ll…” He hesitates, looks for the word he wants. “…bloom,” he finally utters with a shrug.

Bloom, her? Heh. She’s more like a cactus. Ugly. Spiky. Only grows where it’s lonely.

But it occurs to Evelyn: even cactuses have their flowers, don’t they?


	9. You look so damn cool

The days went by.

Some days, Helen changed her schedule for one reason or another (mostly the kids), but most often, she was with Evelyn each morning from ten to two. Things quickly settled into a sort of makeshift routine, one that felt fragile and strange, but one that _worked_ , nonetheless.

Was it monotonous? No. Never. For multiple reasons. Evelyn’s mind was always working, always shifting around and playing with different ideas and offering her own (often twisted and pessimistic) interpretation of things. She was fascinating to talk with, fascinating to _be_ with, and watching the cogs whir in her brain was entertaining all in itself. That fierce light that entered her blue eyes whenever she got an especially good idea—a light that seemed so much brighter because of how dead-eyed Evelyn would look when it faded again.

Helen found herself resettling into old attitudes—the way she’d felt about Evelyn before… well, everything. She found being around Evelyn was… oddly, _easy_. That is, it was easy, so long as Helen managed to forget everything. And after a few hours of lively discussion with Evelyn, Helen sometimes _did_ manage to forget. And they left behind their roles, their history, and became just two women who liked each other’s company.

Well, hell, at least _Helen_ did. She couldn’t speak for Evelyn, and for all she knew, the inventor didn’t feel the same way. In fact, if Helen were Evelyn, she knew she wouldn’t feel the same way. Evelyn was probably always conscious of her role, of what she’d done, of her guilt, or the heavy weight of the court sentence on her back, and perhaps also conscious of the strong core beliefs she had once held.

Maybe still did hold.

The thought made Helen frown and repress a shudder.

 

It was two weeks since their sentence had began. Collaborating together, Evelyn and Helen had managed to design one super suit, one pair of power-enhancing gloves, a cape (as a joke—Edna would kill them), and a hairband that doubled as a weapon (a potential gift for Violet). A pretty impressive résumé for a few weeks’ work, if you asked Helen.

The Elasticycle was in production too. Every time Helen returned to Evelyn’s workroom, she cast a glance at the bike in the corner, and every time, it was a little more complete. By now, it was starting to actually _look_ like a badass motorcycle, rather than just a skeleton, to the point where whenever Helen looked in its direction, an involuntary chill scuttled down her spine and a thrill lanced through her stomach. The idea of riding a bike again. Not just _a_ bike— _that_ bike. Being able to stretch freely, contort herself to battle the bad guys, in ways she’d never dreamed of doing on a regular vehicle. The wind knifing through her hair…

She wanted it. So. Goddamn. Bad.

Right now, they were around two hours into their “session.” Evelyn had been silent for a few minutes; the urge to sketch had overtaken her, though she wouldn’t tell Helen exactly what she was sketching, to which Helen had suspiciously agreed. Evelyn sat at her desk, the sound of her pencil scratching across sketchbook paper filling the otherwise-silent room. She was leaned over, scowling in deep concentration, her tufts of brown hair more unruly than ever. There was something both comforting and eerie about the silence, and Helen found herself lost in time, just looking at the inventor, an expression on her face and emotion in her chest that she wasn’t sure anybody had a name for.

She finally broke the silence by asking knowingly, “You cut your own hair again?”

“Yeah,” said the inventor distractedly, not looking up from her work. “Why? It look bad?”

“Nah, it looks fine. It looks… you.”

Evelyn scoffed, still not lifting her head. “Yeah. Unkempt and bedraggled. That’s me.”

Helen looked away, disguising a smirk. “Hey, at least you dress well.”

“Do I?” asked Evelyn distantly, squinting in concentration as she stared intensely down at her sketch.

“Yeah,” replied Helen, just as distantly, as she got lost in simply _looking_ at the Deavor sister again. She wasn’t fully aware of the slow, lazy smile that formed on her face, or the way her eyes were half-open, or the warmth that bloomed in her chest. It’s only when she caught herself reliving… certain memories… that she stopped, blinked, schooled herself back in check. _Easy, girl_ , she cautioned herself harshly, involuntary heat creeping into her cheeks.

She had already slept with Evelyn. Already allowed herself to feel these feelings once before. But _that_ was a one-time indulgence, and a stupid one, too. Things had changed, and Helen wasn’t certain what was—or ever could be—between them, now.

But she clenched a fist in frustration, thinking. About how things could be. About how they should’ve been.

In another universe, Evelyn was not a criminal. They were still working together, in a _much_ less limited and coerced capacity, of course. The _Everjust_ incident never happened. Helen had no cause to be afraid. There was no tension between them, except the good kind. In this other universe, she’d asked Bob for his go-ahead to start something with Evelyn, to finally do something about the pleasant burn that had overtaken them both. And Bob had said yes. Because there would be no reason for him not to say yes. Because Evelyn was their mutual ally, someone they both trusted, somebody who had done nothing but good for the Parr family and their friends. So they worked together, they collaborated together, they caught bad guys together, all in perfect sync, and they slept together too, because there was nothing holding them back. And Helen could see it turning into something more with Evelyn. She had always seen it that way. It wasn’t just physical, there was something in the mind, something in the chest. Something intellectual, something cerebral, something romantic, something real.

But this wasn’t that universe. It was a dream world. A stupid fantasy. In real life, she had kids to think about, and a husband who was growing more uncomfortable and less trustful by the day, and a public who might fear and hate her for being _seen_ with Evelyn, never mind how little they’d trust her if she was found to be in an actual relationship with the inventor. And besides that, there were her own nagging fears and doubts…

All of those facts, combined together, trumped the bright feeling that bloomed in her chest when she looked at Evelyn Deavor.

At least, she hoped it did. Damn, she hoped to God.

The billionaire’s voice ripped her out of her thoughts. “Done,” proclaimed Evelyn, sitting back and slamming her palms on the desk in satisfaction. “Well, I mean, not _done_ done, but. Good enough for now.”

In her rolling office chair, Helen used her legs to propel herself across the floor towards the desk and Evelyn. “So can I see it now, or is it still a big confidential secret?”

“The secret revealed,” Evelyn said dramatically, picking up the paper and holding it up in front of Helen’s face.

The superheroine squinted at the blueprint for a few moments, then admitted, “I’m… not totally sure what I’m supposed to be seeing here.”

“Thought you’d say that. In layman’s terms: the SmartShield.”

“The huh?”

“The SmartShield,” Evelyn repeated, grinning. “It’s an invention of mine. And a product of my brother’s. We’re going into the manufacturing stage.”

Again, Helen looked at the carefully-detailed sketch upon the paper, of a circular object with tons of lines and dots and details whose purpose Helen couldn’t discern. “Now that you mention it, it does kinda look like a shield.”

“That’s because it _is_ one, Sherlock.”

“A smart one, I’m guessing?” Helen commented with a wry smile.

“Yup. The smartest one of ’em all. At least, I’m hoping so,” she added, lifting her shoulders noncommittally.

“And you’re thinking I might be able to use your shield in a superhero capacity?” Helen guessed, frowning.

The inventor’s grin grew wider, Cheshire Cat-style. “You got it.”

“What does it do?”

Evelyn looked delighted (well, about as delighted as Evelyn could look) to be given the chance to explain. “The original design for the SmartShield is a capsule around the size of a raisin. The idea’s this: when a soldier is in distress, the shield will automatically activate, expanding to fit around their body. It can withstand a whole lot of pressure, heat, cold, blunt force, weaponry, you name it. It can also help with the elements in an emergency. In freezing conditions, it can produce heat, and vice versa. Lately I was thinking of modifying the shield so that it could fit around a larger group of soldiers, if needed. Winston rushed it, though, so I wasn’t able to make any changes. But now I’m thinking about _you_ , and your stretchy powers. Right now my design for the SmartShield isn’t able to protect anything larger than your average man, but with a few tweaks, I could make it respond to your powers. So whaddaya think?”

Helen thought carefully, frown lines scored between her eyebrows. “Well, my suit technically does all that stuff already.”

“Yeah, but your suit doesn’t cover your face, and there’s always the chance for tears and rips.”

“That’s true. And it sounds very useful, Evelyn.” She wasn’t lying. The idea of this shield was fantastic, something that could come in very handy for her and her family.

“If you like it, I’ll have a special one manufactured for you. What do you say?” Evelyn looked like she was trying to be nonchalant, but really wanted Helen to say yes.

“Yeah, that would be great!” she smiled, and watched Evelyn grin in response, and it felt good. It felt right.

Abruptly, Helen switched tactics on a whim. “You know,” she said conversationally, “we don’t have to sit around in here all day. You’re not court-ordered to stay cooped up in this room or anything. We could… go out.”

If Evelyn could’ve hissed like a cornered cat, she probably would’ve. “Go out? Nah. I don’t feel like it.”

“I thought you’d say that,” Helen said simply.

Her companion snorted. “Then why did you ask?”

Bluntly, Helen spoke something that had been on her mind for weeks. “You’re paler than a ghost. This isn’t your normal color. When was the last time you went out in the sunshine?”

“What part of that is your business, Ms. Parr?” There was a fine edge to the inventor’s tone.

Helen didn’t balk. “There’s no rule saying you have to stay in this basement. C’mon, why don’t we go out? If not for you, then for me. Hell, _I’m_ sick of this darkness.”

Evelyn turned away, her grin gone and replaced with a dead-eyed smirk, and Helen felt the billionaire slipping from her grasp. “Nah, thanks. I’m good.”

“You can’t stay here forever,” she said flatly. “Tell me honestly. How often have you gone outside?” Helen had her suspicions.

They were confirmed. Evelyn exhaled, seeming annoyed, and said, “Here and there.”

“Not good enough.”

The brunette shook her head, rolling her dark-rimmed eyes towards the ceiling. “Alright, you want an exact number? I can’t give you one. All I can tell you is, I only leave the DevTech building or my apartment when Winston makes me. Or when I have to travel and shit. Otherwise, I just…” She shrugged limply. “Stay where I know I’m safe.”

“You’ll be safe with me.”                                                                        

The words seemed to catch at Evelyn for some reason; Helen watched the inventor open her mouth, but no sound emerged. She finally closed it again.

Helen spoke again. “Don’t you trust me?”

“Elastigirl.” She spoke as if to a child. “Everyone on this planet hates me. If not because I tried to kill everyone in New Urbem, then they hate me because I’m a spoiled-brat rich kid who got off easy. I learned that lesson the hard way in prison,” she said, voice and eyes speared through with bitterness. “You really wanna be seen in public with me? Didja really think that through? Because I wouldn’t. If I were you.”

It was true. Helen was worried about how the public would perceive this… _thing_ , this partnership or whatever it was, that she had forged with Evelyn. She was worried that the citizens of New Urbem might not feel comfortable placing their trust in her anymore. And what does any super want to cultivate, if not trust?

But on the other hand, Elastigirl was not a coward. Elastigirl, to a certain extent, prided herself on not caring what anyone thought of her.

And screw it, even if she was too proud to admit it, Elastigirl cared about Evelyn. More than almost anything.

“Damn them all,” she said.

Evelyn gazed at her for a moment, expression totally unreadable. Finally, the Deavor sister said, “Now that’s the spirit.”


	10. Make me feel human

Evelyn feels _seen_.

It’s one thing to go out in public as herself, an infamous terrorist and criminal. It’s another thing to go out with her brother, Forbes’ golden boy, one of the most recognizable faces in the business world. It’s a whole different matter to step out with Elastigirl, dressed in her crimson suit with black thigh-high boots and gloves—Evelyn never knew exactly how _bright_ a red it was, not until today. It’s like having a giant flashing beacon next to you.

At first she hates it. Stepping from the DevTech building into the burning sun outside, still high in the sky, and walking down the sidewalk of downtown New Urbem with Elastigirl at her side, Evelyn feels ripe with hate as she absorbs all the shocked looks they’re getting from passersby. Some look delighted to see Elastigirl; some wear scowls of disgust as they notice Evelyn. For others it’s a mix of both, or one follows the other. It might be her imagination, but Evelyn thinks the disgust from onlookers far outnumbers the delight. She feels small, and tries to _make_ herself small, shrinking down, hunching her shoulders and curling her lip. She remembers a time when her pride would’ve precluded that, and she would’ve walked with a straight back and a hateful sneer directed towards all those who dared to look at her that way. But not today. Today, after everything, she doesn’t know that she has the energy to fight back. Even in such a minor way as that.

But Elastigirl’s hand is on her back, and Helen’s voice is low in her ear. “Don’t let ’em break you, honey.”

“Too late,” she mutters with a sarcastic tone that doesn’t match her vulnerable words.

They keep walking, Evelyn trying to match Elastigirl’s calm pace, even though each cell in her body is screaming at her to run down the sidewalk. When she sneaks a quick glance at Elastigirl, she finds that Elastigirl’s vision is occupied by someone else—a business-suit-wearing man across the street who’s staring angrily at them. Elastigirl stares back with enough ferocity to curdle milk, and behind the stare, Evelyn can see every ounce of force that Helen would put behind the punch she’s planning to aim directly at this guy’s nose.

Evelyn has never been more in love with anyone than in this moment. It scares her. Of course it does.

 

“Can you _believe_ those jerks?”

They are sitting in a window booth at Il Cavallo, having already ordered their meals; Elastigirl will be dining on chicken parmigiana, while Evelyn’s opted to steal some of her dining partner’s garlic bread in lieu of an actual meal. Helen hasn’t said anything about that choice, yet. Evelyn hopes she won’t. Evelyn also hopes she _will_. Evelyn hopes a lot of things.

“Yeah,” she says, offering a wry grin. “I can believe them. That’s my _life_ , Elastigirl.”

Elastigirl continues on her rant. “You’re just somebody going about their daily business, and people _stare_ at you—I mean, for god’s sake, don’t people have any common courtesy nowadays? It’s ridiculous.”

The words come unbidden from Evelyn’s mouth. “Elastigirl.”

“What?”

“I almost killed hundreds of people.”

Her masked companion blinks, opens her mouth, closes it. “Well, yeah, but—”

“There’s no but,” Evelyn says. “I deserve it. All of it. Hell, I may despise it beyond all reason, but I damn well earned it.”

“You served your sentence,” says her redheaded companion. “The trial was fair, and the punishment was decided upon justly. It’s over. You don’t deserve to be punished any more than you already have been, especially not by a bunch of random whackos on the street.”

“Your sense of justice,” says Evelyn, index and middle fingers pinched around a plastic bendy straw (the irony of a place as fancy as Il Cavallo having _plastic bendy straws_ ) which she guides to her lips, “is formidable. Your realism? Not so much.”

“I _am_ a realist,” Helen argues as Evelyn takes sips of sparkling water. “I’m realistic.”

“Okay then, Elastigirl. _Realistically_ , how did you expect the people of New Urbem to react to me?”

“With a reasonable amount of respect,” Elastigirl states firmly.

Evelyn snorts and rolls her eyes, though there’s something undeniably charming, something homey that settles in her gut with comforting weight, about Helen’s starry-eyed commitment to truth and justice and whatnot. “You’re cute. You know that?”

She means the words to be sarcastic, but they come out sounding embarrassingly earnest. Helen’s gaze softens. “Yeah, I know. I’ve just got, y’know, this very strong sense of what’s right and what’s wrong, and it hasn’t changed in coming up on four decades, so I don’t see why it should change now.” She accentuates her words with a shrug.

Evelyn leans back, regarding her dining partner. “And staring at a villain in public is… _wrong_.”

“Yes! Openly gawking at somebody, or treating them any differently, is wrong. Regardless of what they did. If they’ve served their time, they should be left alone.”

Evelyn gives her a knowing look. “Are you saying that because you really believe it, or because it’s me?”

Elastigirl blinks slowly. “I believe it,” she says, though she doesn’t sound quite assured.

But moments later, she concedes. “All right, all right. It might be because it’s you. Because you’re my friend, and I was personally ticked off by it. I admit it. Guilty as charged.”

The use of the word _friend_ stings way more than it should.

Their food arrives. Helen chows down her chicken parmigiana, unmessily but with vigor. Evelyn artfully nicks a slice of garlic bread from the side of Helen’s place, and chews methodically.

“Oh—jeez.” Some red sauce from the chicken parm has slopped down onto the front of Helen’s costume. She dabs at it with a napkin.

Evelyn regards her with interest. “Say, can those things stain? Those suits, I mean.”

“Huh? Oh—nope. Edna designed them that way.” Sure enough, when Helen replaces the napkin on the table, the stain is entirely gone, leaving no grease behind on her chest.

“Interesting.” Her mind is already racing, and she loses herself in thinking about how she would design an unstainable super suit. The types of fibers she’d have to use—no, _invent_ …

She only comes back to herself minutes later when she realizes Helen is staring at her.

“What’s wrong?” she asks, taken aback.

Helen looks away, and is Evelyn imagining things, or are there sudden spots of color on her cheeks? “Nothing. I was just thinking.”

“Me, too,” she murmurs, taking another sip of sparkling water.

There’s so many reasons why she couldn’t possibly have seen desire or affection in Helen’s eyes. Still, some stupid part of her thinks she might’ve. Just for one fleeting second.

Evelyn is coming to terms with some things. The most important being: yes, she and Elastigirl slept together, one night. One stupid, drunken night. And the ‘drunken’ is the most important part. They were both _drunk_. Buzzed out of their skulls on wine (and, in Evelyn’s case, other alcohols as well). Unable to tell the difference between right and wrong—barely able to tell the difference between left and right, for god’s sake. Her memory of that night is so utterly _raw_ , even still, months later. Emotions were running high, yada yada yada. It was a stupid mistake on both their parts.

And there is no chance of it happening again. Zero, zilch, zip.

She thinks. Probably.

And she knows it’s stupid to want, but oh boy, sometimes, does she ever catch herself _wanting_.

Wanting to have sex with Elastigirl where they’re both completely sober, of sound mind, where they’ll remember everything afterwards, not just vague emotions and impressions, but _everything_. Wanting to remember exactly how Helen’s skin feels and looks under her hands, wanting to remember how Helen might writhe under her, how she might writhe under Helen. Wanting to remember how she tasted, without all that alcohol blocking Evelyn’s tongue. Wanting to remember whatever might be, in this crazy stupid fantasy world she’s cooked up in her head. A world that’s damn well never gonna exist.

The fantasy can be fun, even if it hurts. And it sure stings like hell, knowing that it’ll likely never be real again. This woman in front of her has three children, a husband, a reputation to protect.

Well, actually. It occurs to Evelyn that Elastigirl doesn’t seem to care that much about her reputation after all. After all, wasn’t it just minutes ago that Elastigirl proudly walked the street beside Evelyn, putting up with people’s stares and sneers, even glaring back defiantly like _they_ were the ones in the wrong?

Remembering the moment, remembering that fire in Elastigirl’s eyes, sets a fire in her, too. She feels almost embarrassed about that. Oh, what the hell, she can admit it: she _is_ embarrassed. She’s resentful and annoyed at herself for the strength of her feelings towards Elastigirl, this fierce, gorgeous woman who’s smarter than a whip and funny and brave... Oh, goddamn it, there she goes _again_. Shut up, Evelyn.

She wishes, desperately, that she could stop being a sap, that she could trade her stupidly-tender heart for a robotic one of her own design, one that feels nothing, like all of New Urbem thinks it already does.

But she can’t.

So, to hell with it.

“You aren’t eating anything,” comments Helen flatly, breaking Evelyn out of her thoughts.

“You noticed,” she replies.

“At least eat your garlic bread, Evelyn. Come on.” She leans forward, cracks a gentle half-smile. “If the issue’s money, I’ll treat you.”

The inventor snorts loudly. “Oh, har-har. We both know I’m approximately, oh, seventy-thousand times richer than you.”

“I was joking. But seriously, I want you to eat.”

“You sound like my brother,” she says, more bitterness in her voice—and in the dead expression on her face, she’d wager—than she actually feels. In reality, she’s flattered that Helen even cares.

“Well, Winston and I have some things in common.” Helen begins counting said things off with her black-gloved fingers. “We both love superheroes. We’re both business majors. We both want you to eat. We’re practically twins.”

Evelyn expertly changes the subject, though it’s out of genuine curiosity. “Hang on, hang on. You were a business major?”

“Oops. I’m not technically supposed to share things like that.”

“Hey, c’mon.” Evelyn lifts her shoulders. “I already know your secret identity. What more harm can you possibly do? Spill.”

Elastigirl looks hesitant, but finally grins, shaking her head. “Aw, what the heck. Yeah, I majored in business economics. Only for two years, though—then I quit.”

“Why?” Evelyn leans forward, garlic bread still slightly warm, clutched in the hand that she braces against her face. (She’s gonna get crumbs on her cheek. Who cares, though.) “I’m deadly curious. I mean, you don’t exactly strike me as the quitting type.”

“I’m not. Well, not usually. This time, I was,” Elastigirl admits. She turns her face to the window, looking at the downtown core of New Urbem, the hustle and bustle making its way by on the cracked pavement of the sidewalks. Life goes by without them; in their little booth at Il Cavallo, they’re suspended in a bubble of time. “I just… realized there was something I loved better.”

“Your husband,” Evelyn guesses, sounding unimpressed.

The redhead gives her a sharp glance. “C’mon, don’t read a book by its cover, Evelyn. I’da thought you of all people would’ve learned that by now.”

Evelyn isn’t flushing. She _hopes_ she isn’t flushing, anyway. “Well, I apologize,” she says smoothly. “What was it, then?”

“Aviation. Heh, it’s a boring story,” smirks the redhaired hero, shaking her head, as if to clear the cobwebs off her old memories. “One of my professors, Snug, he was a business guy, but he also loved flying. Me and him became friends, and he took me for a joyride in his crop duster one day. That was _it_. I was hooked. The end of that year, I quit school and started training to become a pilot. Never looked back.”

“Sounds pretty impulsive,” Evelyn remarks with a smile. “Not like the Elastigirl I know.”

“Yeah, well, I _was_ impulsive in the day,” she admits. “I did a lotta things just because I felt like it in the moment. Like shaving my head.”

“You _shaved your head?_ ”

“I might have a picture somewhere.”

Evelyn holds the straw of her drink between two fingers. “I would kill a man to see that.”

“You don’t have to kill anybody. I’ll show you.” Elastigirl runs a hand—unconsciously?—through her shoulder-length red hair. “Man, I don’t miss those days.”

This surprises Evelyn. “You _don’t_?”

“Nope. Not at all.”

“Well, that’s a shock. You were a young hero, full of vibrant youth, at the top of your game, _free_. What’s not to miss? Hell, I’d kill to be that young and unburdened again.” She thinks back to the death of her parents. The moment that shattered her innocence. What she’s really saying is: _I’d kill to exist before then. And never have to know how it feels_.

Elastigirl regards Evelyn with an even gaze. “Yeah, but you see, I’m exactly where I want to be. I have what I’ve always wanted. A hero career, a husband and kids, a life… _stability_.”

Stability.

Because isn’t that what a woman like Helen—solid, assured, dependable, warm, _home_ —wants? And isn’t Evelyn a fool for not seeing it?

She chooses her words carefully. They’re a flirtation, an expression of pain, a warning. “Yeah, well, don’t you ever want something fun in your life, something raw? Something chaotic? Something—”

“Dangerous,” says Helen, finishing her sentence.

That was exactly what Evelyn was going to say.

“Sometimes, yeah,” says the super. “But that’s where hero work comes in. I get my kicks and my thrills from chasing bad guys around.”

“Bad guys like me,” Evelyn presses. She doesn’t know what she wants Elastigirl to say. She only knows she wants _something_.

Elastigirl surprises her. “You know what’s thrilling about you?” she asks, bracing her elbows on either side of her chicken parm, and leaning her chin on her hands.

A lump rises in Evelyn’s throat and a shiver scurries down her spine. She hides it expertly. “Enlighten me, hero.”

“You’re _not_ a bad guy. You’re… a different kind of adventure. Something I’ve never experienced before. You’re trying to get _better_ , and I’m trying to help you get there.” She chuckles, warm like honey. “Let me tell you, I’ve never even met a villain in my life who wanted to improve, much less gotten the chance to be there when it happens. You’re something else. You’re not a bad guy, and you’re not a good guy. You’re…”

She trails off, frowning, as if trying to search for the right word.

As she looks at Elastigirl’s masked face, a word comes to Evelyn’s mind: _saudade_. She does not say it aloud.

“Eh, I dunno.” Elastigirl waves her hand dismissively. “I’m rambling.”

“Just out of curiosity.” Evelyn’s so goddamn in love in this moment that she doesn’t even know how she’s managing to speak, let alone sound vaguely normal. “What were you gonna say? What am I?”

Elastigirl stares at her for a moment.

“Human,” she finally says. “I was going to say _human_.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you keep enjoying this story.


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